


After The Fall

by firesign



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bottom Jensen, Discipline, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, F/M, Femdom, M/M, Master/Slave, Paddling, Punishment, Spanking, Switch Jensen, Top Misha Collins, pleasure slaves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 104,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign/pseuds/firesign
Summary: Set in an alternative future when matriarchy rules and men must be owned and kept by women, called Sponsors. A woman chooses to take a male into her home, provides for him, and disciplines him. It is her duty to nurture his best masculine instincts while keeping his more violent or destructive ones in check. Jensen Ackles is an actor and a highly trained pleasure slave, a male who has been abandoned by his Sponsor and cast out onto the streets. Thinking he will have to be sent back to the Pens--places of unimaginable horrors where men are penned within fences by armed guards--Jensen is surprised to learn that his female co-star, Rowan, is willing to take him into her household, alongside her long time male charge, Misha. Jensen finds himself in a difficult predicament, however, when he realizes he has feelings for both Rowan AND for Misha. His attraction to Rowan is allowed, and encouraged, of course. But his feelings for Misha are not.I have lots of this story, if people are into it, I'll post more.xoxo





	1. Out of the Woods

Jensen opened the door, put his keys down on the table in the entry, walked three feet into the room, and immediately dropped to his knees.

He was tired; hell yes, he was tired. They'd shot fourteen hours today and it had taken three hours just to get the water shot alone, him and Jared, forced to submerge and then break through the lake's surface, again and again, in cold Vancouver spring until they'd gotten everything exactly right. He wanted to open a beer, have a hot shower, and sit in front of the TV for an hour before dragging himself, exhausted, to bed. But he couldn't, not tonight. He had orders. And it was his own fault.

He waited, holding himself in perfect position. Misha would expect no less. He knew he'd be made to wait and steeled himself; it wasn't unheard of for Misha to leave him here like this for hours, usually showing up to provide relief just when Jensen believed he would pass out or wet himself. Tonight he was lucky, however. Footsteps down the hallway and then, in a moment, Misha came into the living room, a looming shadow against Rowan's tasteful white décor with its splashes of vibrant color.

Jensen kept his arms locked behind his head and his gaze straight ahead, where it belonged. He was tired and cranky and braced himself for the scolding that was sure to come before his punishment. He disciplined himself enough to keep his eyes from darting to Misha's hand to see what he was holding: a paddle, or a strap. Possibly the cane, though, honestly, he'd be shocked. He'd be good and not show he was shocked, of course, but what he'd done that morning was unlikely to warrant the harshest—well, one of the harshest—punishments he could be given.

He breathed in just slightly, preparing—and then Misha's hand came up, and caught him under the chin, turning Jensen's face up toward his. The moment Jensen met Misha's eyes, all his frustration and annoyance seeped away. Misha's expression was so soft, his eyes so caring, almost regretful. It melted away the bit of rebellion Jensen hadn't been aware he was carrying until now. He hadn't been sorry, he realized, not really. Suddenly he was ashamed.

"Long day, baby?" Misha said, such tender concern in his voice that Jensen's breath hitched as he made his reply.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you need a drink, before we get started?"

"Yes please, sir," Jensen answered. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to throw himself at Misha's feet, tell him he was sorry, beg for forgiveness. But it wasn't allowed. He was being punished, and he could only speak when spoken to.

"I'll be right back," Misha said, running his hand through Jensen's hair, scratching gently at the base of his neck, before turning for the kitchen. Jensen felt a physical ache at the loss of Misha's touch. He waited.

In a moment Misha was back with a glass of water. He held it to Jensen's lips. Jensen drank.

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," Misha said kindly. He stood back and looked at Jensen. "You've done very well now, submitting yourself for punishment. You know why you're here?"

Jensen took a deep breath. He wished that he could take back everything, but the only thing now was to submit to Misha and bear his discipline the best he could. "I was harsh with Rowan, sir. I snapped at her this morning, when she was just trying to help me—"

_Do you need this, Jenny? Rowan spinning fast, holding a script. Hot coffee down Jensen's shirt. Running late. Goddamnit, he'd said. Fuck. The look on her face._

"I—I hurt her." He winced at the thought of it.

"That's right, Jensen. And what is our duty, to Rowan?"

Jensen had to swallow hard and force himself to answer. "To care for her, sir. To be tender with her and to see to her needs. To obey her. And to submit to her when necessary."

"Did you do that, this morning?"

"No, sir." The opposite of tender, the opposite of what he'd sworn to be for her and it killed Jensen. He hated himself for failing his duties. For failing her.

"So what do you deserve, Jensen?"

"I deserve to be punished, sir. Please punish me now. Severely, so I won't forget and do it again," Jensen said, and meant it.

"Rowan didn't want you punished," Misha said. Jensen looked at him, horrified.

"Please—"

"Don't worry," Misha reassured him. "I'm going to make sure you get what you need. That's our other duty, isn't it?"

"Yes sir. Thank you." That's what he and Misha were here for, after all. To keep one another in line, each making sure the other was in top shape for Rowan. Jensen was deeply relieved. He felt terrible and there was nothing that could make it better other than accepting punishment.

"Bring me the thick strap, Jensen."

The thick strap. Worse really, than Jensen had reckoned earlier, but just what he figured he needed now, after a moment's reflection. He rose immediately and moved to the study, off the living room, where a deep chest of drawers held paddles of varying sizes and materials—wood, leather—and the straps, as well as the dildos, those for pleasure and for punishment, and various other accoutrements, anal beads and cock rings and ben wa balls. He made his movement obedient but not hurried; he didn't want to give off any air of defiance or power. He was bigger than Misha, and aware of that, and when he was punished he was careful to move submissively but not quickly, to avoid any hint of aggression. Rowan might allow him to stay after he had sworn at her, but she would not tolerate aggression in a male.

He opened the cabinet. On the left side hung three straps. Jensen took down the thickest, the heaviest, and carried it back out to the living room. The living room ran seamlessly into the kitchen behind it, and Misha was standing over by the bar that separated the two. His handler had a two day scruff on his face and his blue eyes were solemn. His arms were powerful beneath the black v-neck t-shirt and Jensen knew exactly how much dark hair fuzzed the man's chest. A medium amount. Jensen went to him and handed him the strap.

"Pull down your pants and take the position, Jensen," Misha commanded. His voice wasn't sharp now, but it definitely wasn't gentle. He was injecting it with just enough power to ensure Jensen's obedience; to give him something to focus on other than the pain that was about to come.

"Yes, sir," Jensen answered and did as he was told. He quickly unbuckled his belt, which he always wore, because at any time he might be required to take it off and hand it over to Misha or Rowan to strap him with, and slid his jeans down around his ankles. Then he bent at the hips and laid his chest across the counter, his head to one side so that his cheek lay against the cool marble. He grabbed his elbows across the small of his back to show his total submission. He felt Misha's hand take the waistband of his boxers and gently tug them down, so Jensen was fully exposed, bent over with his ass naked in the air.

"I’m going to strap your bottom now, Jenny. Fifty times," Misha said.

Fifty with the strap was no joke. "Thank you, sir," Jensen said. He did not allow himself to tense. It was only a moment before he heard the strap whizz in the air and Misha slammed it down across his buttocks. The pain was immediate and intense, but still on the light end of a strapping. Misha would give him five or ten strokes of medium intensity before the strapping would begin in full. Fifty was the most he could take before the punishment would be considered a full beating, which was something Jensen needed a weekend to recover from. As it was, he had to be back on set the next day. Misha, of course, would know that.

Smack! The next stroke fell, slightly lower than first. Misha followed it with the third, and the fourth, covering Jensen's entire bottom. The seventh stroke landed below his buttocks, across the backs of his thighs, as did the eighth. Then Misha paused.

"That was the easy part. Get ready, now."

"Yes, sir," Jensen replied. Fourty-two at full strength coming. He breathed deeply and refused to let himself tense. He'd been taught not to clench and knew that if he did, extra strokes could be applied. The ninth stroke landed and the pain was hot and severe. Smack! Ten. Smack! Eleven. "Good," said Misha, and then strapped his thighs for the twelfth. Jensen sucked air in through his teeth.

Misha continued raining the belt down across his ass and thighs mercilessly. Jensen moaned and began to quiver. Just when he began to have serious doubts about his abilities to hold himself here, in position, and take this, Misha's voice kicked in as if on cue.

"Very good, Jenny. Very good boy. Smack! You're doing so beautifully, Jen—Smack!—just focus on my voice. Smack! You deserve this. You need this. You need it, don't you baby. Smack! Now take it. Take it, Jenny. Come on, now. Smack! You hurt Rowan, and you're paying the price. Smack! You'll pay the price."

Jensen held himself still, anchoring himself in Misha's voice and muttering and occasional "yes sir". Still, the pain was intense, and after letting out a few half-yell, half-cries, Jensen finally began to sob.

"That's it, Jenny. Smack! That's all right. We're at thirty-nine, now. Smack! Forty. Only ten more, you can take ten more. You need this, Jensen. You deserve this." Jensen moaned under the strokes, his ass ablaze in pain, crying but not moving. He would see this through. Misha gave him the last ten strokes hard and fast, which made it particularly hard to take—Jensen cried and nearly screamed—but also meant it was over faster. The belt slammed into his thighs and Jensen quivered, holding himself still for the next one—but then Misha was rubbing his back and soothing him.

"It's done," he said. "It's all done now, Jenny. You took that so well, baby. I'm so proud of you." His hand was gentle and firm between Jensen's shoulder blades, rubbing. "Deep breaths."

Jensen obeyed, although he was technically no longer under punishment. Misha rubbed and Jensen breathed until they both felt he had collected himself. Misha swatted his bottom--lightly, but after that punishment, it still hurt and Jensen fought not to suck in air. "Up now," he said, and Jensen stood, pulling up his boxers and jeans.

"I'm sorry," he said, fastening his belt. Misha smiled.

"You've been punished. It's done."

This was, of course, what Jensen loved about a punishment, what he craved. He took the strap and replaced it in the cabinet, then returned to the kitchen where Misha was pouring a beer into a glass. He handed it to Jensen, who took it gratefully. He took a long sip and before he could speak, Rowan came into the room.


	2. Chapter Two

She was gorgeous. She always was, to Jensen anyway. He was aware that Rowan considered herself somewhat plain, and that probably some would agree, but to Jensen, there was no face more lovely that that of his Sponsor. She'd been working, he could tell immediately from the ink stains on her fingers as she took the glass of water that Misha was already offering her. Her hair was in a knot on top of her head and she was in her striped pajama pants, which hugged her thighs, and a thin strapped white tank top. Jensen set down his beer. He might still need to square himself away with Rowan, in fact, he was pretty sure he did. He drew in breath to speak and then began to sink to his knees, ready to atone further if he needed to—

"No, no," Rowan said, reaching out her hand as if to grab and stop him. Jensen froze abruptly and then rose, casting a glance at Misha. Misha had his arm around Rowan's waist and was holding her a bit protectively. Jensen remembered. Rowan hadn't wanted him punished. She'd entered smiling but now a line of worry appeared between her eyebrows. He held her eyes a moment and then decided not to apologize. Instead he gave her his most winning smile. She knew he'd been punished, of course. That would have to be enough.

"Hey, baby," he said, making his eyes hot on her. Just because Rowan didn't employ him technically as a Pleasure Slave didn't mean he never used his training. "We missed you today."

Rowan relaxed somewhat and leaned into Misha's embrace. "I missed you too," she said. Sometimes she teased, but this was shy Rowan, who Jensen loved and who didn't show herself all that often. He wanted to embrace her, but the fact that she was leaning so fully into Misha was a sign that she wasn't ready for him yet. Jensen knew, he was trained to recognize these things. He'd expected this, of course, having hurt her the way he did this morning, and normally, he'd simply set about making dinner or pouring drinks or whatever they were doing, and wait for Rowan to slowly warm up. Wait to earn her trust back again. But at the moment he found himself incredibly distracted by the sight of Misha's fingers on Rowan's arm, the beautiful lines of the places their two bodies met.

Jensen realized Misha was frowning at him slightly and covered quickly. "You wanna beer, sweetheart?" he asked, turning and opening the fridge, hoping it would block the bulge of his erection from Rowan and Misha's sight. An erection over nothing, what was he, twelve? His former Sponsor had been right. He was oversexed.

"Yes please, honey," Misha answered, grinning wryly. 

"Shut up," Jensen groaned good-naturedly. "Ro?"

"Mmmm," she said. "Maybe some wine. I guess that would be a waste, since it's just me—never mind, I'll just drink a beer—"

But Jensen was already unwrapping the bottle. He raised an eyebrow at her, teasing gently. "Just don't get wasted. They pulled our call to six tomorrow."

"In the morning?" Rowan said, sighing. "You guys fuck it up already?"

"Blame Jared," Jensen said.

"I usually do," Rowan replied. Jensen handed her a glass of Burgundy, and the three of them clinked glasses. Jensen didn't notice the brief glance Rowan exchanged with Misha.

"Well," Misha said. "We had some rib eye for dinner. You hungry? I'll throw one on for you."

Jensen's gratitude was a physical sensation. There were still days he couldn't believe how lucky he was, to have ended up here with Ro and Misha. Rowan didn't have to take on a second Male, she had simply chosen to. There were many like Jensen who weren't so lucky—second born Males with no women willing to take on more than required, the legendary holding pens in the Midwest full of adult males without work permits, or housing permits, places more brutal than prisons because the chances of getting out were even slimmer. And Misha was a perfect Handler, caring and attentive, forgiving yet relentless about ensuring Jensen always got exactly as much punishment as he needed and deserved, and submitting to punishment himself when he erred, as required by law. Misha departed Rowan's side with a soft kiss to her forehead and, smiling softly, she approached Jensen. He wrapped one arm around her and held her, gently but close, feeling dizzy with happiness at his situation. Despite the shit world they lived in, at times like this his life seemed nearly perfect.

 

***

 

Jensen had never expected to be allowed to keep the role on Supernatural. He held a work permit, of course, but what the producers had missed was that it would expire in three months—and couldn't be renewed, because his last Sponsor, Joanna Banks, had abandoned him. It had been a delicate situation with Joanna from the beginning. She was moody, which Jensen could handle—had been trained to handle, in fact—but she was also cold and difficult to read. He was a natural at adjusting his behavior to suit his Sponsor's needs, but he couldn't do that if he couldn't figure out what her needs were. There were times when Jensen had been punished for going to comfort a crying Joanna. He had submitted to the punishment, of course, and then gone to her on his knees, asking respectfully as he could what he could do to improve, to better serve her. Like his sympathy for her tears, his desire to please had enraged her and he'd been punished again. This had gone on for years, Joanna growing increasingly frustrated and Jensen desperate to please her, all the while knowing his desperation angered her further. Finally, after a horrible two week period during which Joanna had berated Jensen, called him stupid, and publicly humiliated him in front of other males, constantly telling him to please her and rejecting his every attempt, making a show of it, making him a fool, Jensen had lost his temper, snapped at her during a session, and Joanna had used the excuse to end their contract. She'd kicked him out of the house. Chad, Joanna's second Male—Jensen had been the third--had taken pity and given Jensen enough money to get to the audition he had scheduled in Vancouver. Jensen had landed the role and then spent two months sleeping in parks and under bridges, hiding from both the Guard and the bands or roving Drones, males untethered to any Sponsors or Handlers, savage men who ran the wild areas looking to prey on down-on-their-luck males such as himself.

Then he'd gone in for the read-through, the first real day of production, and met Jared Padalecki and Rowan West, who were to play his little brother and sister, Sam and Kate Winchester, on the show. Jensen and Jared had taken to each other right away. They'd both been born in Old Texas (which they were careful to call Newcali when anyone was listening) and, Jensen could tell almost immediately, had both been assigned to the same duties when they'd first come of age. It was something you recognized on another man, a gracefulness of movement, a fluidity in the hips, that they couldn't seem to shake, no matter how hard they tried. Jared had a great Sponsor, a tiny, beautiful brunette named Gen. Conversation had flowed easily between Jared and Jensen, and at the end of the first day Jensen was the most content he'd ever been in his life, and already regretting that his contract would be up in three months and he'd almost certainly be forced to return to his former position, and another actor would be given his role. It happened frequently enough. Males allowed to work often found the strain between their household duties and career duties proved too much, and the drop-out rate was especially high among actors. Many Sponsors weren’t able or willing to tolerate the long, demanding hours away. 

But Rowan. It wasn't her looks, Jensen was used to seeing beautiful women. There was something different about Rowan. When they'd been introduced she'd taken his hand and gazed up at him shyly, smiling and chewing her lip. "Hey, brother," she'd joked, doing a silly, dopey voice. Just when Jensen had fixed her with his warmest smile, however, the mischief had darted out of her eyes and a worry lines appeared between her eyebrows. Suddenly she couldn't meet his eye. She seemed embarrassed.

Jensen had been about to be, not flirtatious exactly, but warm. Now he sensed some hesitation in her and went for kind, but professional. "Rowan. I'm Jensen Ackles, District Six. Nice to meet you." It wasn't required, exactly, for him to state his District, but Males who didn't identify themselves to women were considered ill-bred at best.

His efforts were rewarded by the relief on her face. "Six, huh. All you actor guys are from Six. I've never been down there. Afraid I'd be tempted to take on ten more Males. Oh shit!" She'd gone brilliant red. "Oh my god, that was so—I can't believe I—I'm so sorry—"

Jensen's soft chuckle finally convinced her to stop apologizing. "It's all right. You wouldn't be the first woman to leave Six with a houseful of men she hadn't intended to Sponsor." Which is exactly what happened with Joanna, he thought, but didn't say to her.

Things between the three of them had been polite but careful over the first few days, as they'd started shooting and getting to know each other. Jensen had found her easy-going, often funny, but not much more. Then, during the second week of shooting, production was delayed because Jared and Jensen had been goofing around in their trailer, drinking beers and playing COD. Tension had been running high and blowing off steam with a couple of drinks had seemed like a good idea—until they arrived slightly buzzed on set and proceeded to botch their lines and break for the next hour. Rowan had watched impassively, getting her lines out perfectly despite her co-stars' constant stuttering and breaking, until Jared had flubbed the same line for the fifth time in a row, and Rowan had said, quite calmly, under her breath so only they could hear: "Either one of you ever does this again, I won't bother with your Handler. I'll take you over my knee and spank you myself."

Jared had gone bright red and left for a drink of water, but Jensen had muttered a quick "Yes ma'am," to her, this actress who played his little sister, and felt infinitely better. Discipline was something Jensen craved, a safety net he felt unmoored without. Rowan had raised an eyebrow at him, playful now that she knew she was understood, and he'd nailed the next take.

After that, Jensen couldn't get enough of Rowan. They started going back to her trailer between scenes, Jensen feeling safe enough to drink a beer in her presence—he knew if he went for a third, she'd disapprove--and he felt safe within her parameters. It wasn't long before Rowan had invited Jared and Jensen over for drinks and dinner—and that was when Jensen had first met Misha.

 

***

 

Jensen turned to examine his back in the bathroom mirror. Yet again, he had reason to be thankful for his Handler. Misha had applied the harshest strokes to his bottom and upper thighs, leaving no welts on his back or anywhere wardrobe might see. He stripped naked, putting his underwear and t-shirt down the laundry chute, where Misha would wash them this afternoon and return them to him, folded and smelling of the detergent Rowan liked. He turned on the shower, still reveling, after six months, in the beauty of his own private shower stall. Joanna had given him a basement servant's quarters with a standing room-only stall that had mold in the grouting, and even that had been paradise compared to what he'd survived during his brief stint in the Pens. Rowan's shower—his shower now, he reminded himself--was a thing of beauty, cool marble and multiple heads and a bench to sit, kept fastidiously clean by Misha and an occasional hired boy. Just as he was about to step in there was a knock at the door. 

"Come in," Jensen said immediately. He wasn't required to allow either Misha or Rowan access to his room upon demand, but it was sort of an unspoken understanding that he'd only deny them in extreme situations. He turned around just as Misha entered and cast a brief glance down at Jensen's exposed crotch, his ginger pubic hair and large cock. It was a thing Misha had seen a hundred times before. And yet all of a sudden, Jensen felt similar to the way he'd felt in his previous life. An object of lust. Exposed.

"Good morning," Misha said, clearing his throat and focusing intensely on Jensen's eyes. The ridiculous nature of the situation—he and Misha here in a steamy bathroom, trying to keep their eyes off each other's junk—seemed suddenly hilarious and he would have laughed, had he not needed to focus every inch of his energy on not getting a hard-on here in front of Misha, who was technically his master and bound, by contract, to punish Jensen severely for any act of unfaithfulness to Rowan. 

"I just wanted to see how your welts were looking," Misha said. Jensen turned obediently so the other man could examine his backside. He breathed slowly and through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as Misha bent to bring his eyes level with Jensen's ass. Misha's fingers were cool and smooth on his skin, running lightly across Jensen's bottom and thighs. Jensen tried frantically to think of an ugly person naked. "Good," Misha said, and stood. "I didn't want you bruised." He swatted Jensen lightly on the rump, releasing him.

"Ro up yet?" Jensen said over his shoulder as he stepped into the shower. He could not turn to face Misha. Despite his attempts, Misha's fingers had left him well on his way to a full blown erection.

"No. Thought I'd let you wake her. After yesterday. . . " Misha trailed off. Jensen grinned, running his hand through his wet hair, water running down his face.

"Thanks, man." He truly appreciated it, being given a further chance to smooth things over with Rowan before they were to work together all day. Jensen worked shampoo into his hair and his mind wandered to the scene he had to shoot today, an emotionally draining one with Jared and a typical Kate/Dean fight with Rowan. The play-out of the scene in his head was interrupted by an image of Misha bending down to examine his ass again. . . and then letting his hand wander around to Jensen's crotch. . . while his right hand maybe entered the deep folds of his buttocks. . . He rinsed his hair and was reaching down toward his full erection when a movement in the corner of his eye startled him. 

"Mish?" Jensen said, eyes half-shut against the water.

"Yes, Jensen?"

"Uh. . . is there anything else, man? I'm kinda. In the shower here?" he grinned. "I mean I'd love to chat but it's hard to hear you over the—" pornographic images in my head "—water."

"Oh," Misha said. "Right. Of course. I should leave you to . . . shower. In private. Are you—I'll get some breakfast going."

"With bacon!" Jensen called playfully, smiling until the moment Misha left, when he sighed in deep relief. Then he took himself in hand and began to work his engorged penis quickly. There was no way, even with the experience he had, that he was going to make it through this morning without jacking off. He didn't think about what he was doing. Just let the image of Misha on his knees before him enter back into his head, and finished off quickly.

 

"Ro?" Jensen brushed her hair off her forehead. "Hey. Time to get up, baby."

"Mmm," Rowan groaned, cranky as she always was to be woken. Jensen persisted, sliding into bed with her and easing one arm under her head. 

"Ro-oh," he sang gently. "what a beautiful morning, Ro-oh want a beautiful day,"

"Leave me alone or I'll have you punished."

"I brought you a latte."

Rowan groaned again and finally sat up, her hair mussed and bedroomish, a sweet frown on her face. "Why you always waking me up so early, Jenny?"

"Can't stand to be without you, I guess," Jensen said. He handed over her latte and brushed his finger tips down her arm as she lifted it to her face. After taking a sip, she settled back against his chest and sighed. They sat there in silence for a moment, until everything between them became too heavy and Jensen couldn't help it.

"Ro, I'm sorry about yesterday morning. I'm so sorry."

"Jensen—"

"I don't know what my problem was, I can be such an ass. You and Mish, bringing me here—"

"Jensen—"

"And taking such good care of me—Misha doesn't have to be so kind to me, in plenty of houses I'd be getting the Cinderella treatment, and I know that—and you, Ro—I'm so lucky that you don't—"

"Jensen," Rowan said, finally making her voice a bit sharp to get his attention. "Stop it. You took your punishment," she sighed, going softer now. "You're forgiven. Completely. And you're one of us, now, okay? You're equal. I know what they did to you in Joanna's household, and I've promised you: Misha and I will never treat you that way. And we won't let anyone else treat you like that either. Okay?" 

Jensen took a deep breath and resolved to do what he was supposed to—reassure Rowan instead of constantly needing her to be reassuring him. It was still difficult, even now, six months in, to believe this all was his and not a trick, something to be bestowed and then cruelly yanked away to hurt him. Still, he thought he was improving. Things had grown easy between he and Misha, and he'd been attending to Ro as he was meant to. But the episode two weeks ago—when Jensen had been taken over Misha's lap for a spanking and had found himself growing painfully aroused—had thrown him off again.

"Misha's got breakfast going, you want me to bring some up to you?"

Rowan smiled. "No," she sighed. "If I don't get up now, I never will." They climbed reluctantly from her bed, her clean white cotton sheets. They each had their own bedroom; Rowan, of course, was permitted access to either one of theirs whenever she wanted it. He placed his hand on her hip and she turned and, without warning, pressed herself into him, hard, sort of desperately, her free hand snaking up around his neck and her head buried into his chest. Surprised, Jensen wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. She had seemed more delicate lately than he'd ever known her to be. He ran his hand along her hair and took a deep breath, shoving old memories of Joanna, old fears, aside.

"Are you okay, honey?"

"Yes," she said, and it sounded like she meant it. "It's going to be all right, Jensen."

He frowned. "I know it is." What the hell was she talking about?


	3. Chapter Three

Down in the kitchen, Misha was dressed in jeans and a soft white button up, casual, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and revealing dark hair on his forearms. When Rowan and Jensen entered, he looked up from the stove where, indeed, bacon was sizzling, and grinned.

"Good morning," he said. "I see you woke the angry goddess."

"He bore coffee as penance," Rowan said, "so I let him live."

"Just in time," Misha said, putting bacon on a plate with eggs scrambled with tomato and spinach, and whole wheat toast. "Rowan," he said.

"Thank you, baby," she said, kissing his cheek and taking the plate to the counter. Misha made up a second plate.

"And Jensen," he said.

"Thanks, man," Jensen said, taking the plate. His arm brushed Misha's and Misha looked at him and smiled. That smile still punched Jensen in the gut some days. Misha just seemed so happy to do the things he did, even to care for Jensen sometimes. It was vastly different from his last household, when he'd tried desperately to care for others and had received none in return. Misha poured three mugs of coffee and they all sat at the island.

"You wanna go over our scene?" Jensen said to Rowan. "I'm a little worried about it—"

"Jensen," Rowan said, and something in her voice snapped him immediately to attention. "There's something Misha and I have to tell you—no honey," she reassured quickly as Jensen's face became stony, ready to hear that he was going to be asked to leave. "It's about Misha."

Jensen's gaze swiveled immediately to his Handler. "Are you ok?"

"I’m fine. It's nothing to worry about, Jenny. Just some news we wanted you to hear from us first."

"Ok," said Jensen, putting down his fork. No way he could eat, now. "What is it?"

Misha opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Hopelessly, he looked to Rowan, who apparently decided against torturing Jensen further and blurted, "Misha's been cast on the show. A pretty big part. Semi-regular. Oh, hell. Honey, it's not going to be that bad."

"No ma'am," Jensen answered automatically as all the blood drained from his face.

 

***

 

"You were a pleasure slave, weren't you?"

Rowan had spoken the words to him one night at a get-together at her house, during the first few weeks after shooting, after Jared and Gen had crashed in an upstairs bedroom and Misha had gone to sleep. Jensen's stomach had immediately clenched under a thick wave of nausea, but even as he felt he might be sick, something in his co-star's voice calmed him. She said it without any judgment at all. Casually, in fact. Like making conversation, the way you might say "Your dad was a dentist?" or, "Do you like Indian food?"

"Yes," he said, his voice a bit husky. Rowan had frowned. 

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to match her casual tone. "It's just. . . not something I've really. Talked about." The habit of obeying Sponsors—even Sponsors who weren't his own—was too deeply ingrained in him to allow him to avoid answering any direct questions. 

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Well, it isn't something to be proud of, is it?" The way Joanna had looked at him. The disgust on her face when he'd done as he'd been taught, noticed her cycles and waited, naked and in submissive position, in her bedroom at the time of her cycle when she would be ovulating, the time when women felt most easily aroused. 

Rowan had made a sort of upside down smile, as if this thought was completely new to her. "Well, I don't know. Isn't it? Seems pretty impressive to me. Pleasure slaves go through all that training and from what I've heard, it serves them pretty well. I've thought of sending Misha. There's a program, where any Male can receive similar training." She'd shrugged. "I don't know. Most women I know are either engaging pleasure slaves or wishing they could afford to."

Jensen wanted to ask why Rowan wasn't engaging one, but it would have been incredibly inappropriate. How Sponsors conducted themselves sexually was absolutely none of a males business. But Rowan's apparent regard for pleasure slaves eased some of the shame he'd felt, since leaving Banks Household, over what he was, the training he'd received.

They'd talked late into the night after that, even though they both had to work the next day. Around three a.m, Misha had wandered bleary-eyed into the kitchen. "Sorry, man, did we wake you?" Jensen had asked.

"Not at all," Misha was unfailingly polite. "I just woke for the bathroom and wondered if you two could use some chocolate chip pancakes, maybe? Or possibly coffee and some hair of the dog, at this point," he'd said. Jensen had watched as Rowan had smiled warmly at him and put her arm around his waist, drawing Misha into her. "Unless of course you wish to be alone," Misha had said. Something In Jensen's expression must have given him away. He longed for the connection these two clearly shared, the gentleness there. "Are you all right?" Misha had asked him.

Maybe because he'd been drinking . . . or maybe it was the way that Rowan had told him to be proud of who he was, or the tenderness in Misha's blue eyes, so gentle, like a safe place to land, or the offer to make him chocolate chip pancakes, of all things—but Jensen suddenly found himself telling them the details of his predicament.

". . . she was right to send me away. I was out of line. I should have learned, I should have tried harder. It was my job, and I failed. I was never a good Male for her. But I can't go back now, and without a Sponsor I won't be able to get my work permit renewed. They'll let me choose between the Pleasure Houses and the Pens, and I'll choose the Houses, of course. Which will be fine, there are parts of the job I loved—there were good clients, and I was well-trained—but I'll miss this. Being Dean, and—you guys. I'm sorry."

Misha and Rowan had listened silently, their faces showing no judgement, only concern. When Jensen had finally exhausted himself, Rowan had nodded once to Misha. Jensen supposed they would send him home, possibly even call the authorities, and he didn't care. It had burdened him, being untruthful all these weeks and now he felt release. He would face the consequences. Misha had come and put his arm around his shoulders. "Come here, Jenny," he's said quietly and Jensen obeyed, expecting to be shown to the door. 

But Misha had taken him upstairs, to the bathroom. "Are you going to paddle me?" Jensen said, not surprised. It was fully in their rights to punish him, an un-Sponsored male. He stumbled slightly. He realized he was drunk.

"No, baby," Misha had said, steadying him. "You haven't done anything wrong." He'd sat Jensen on the closed seat of the toilet and then proceeded to run a bath. Steam had begun to fill the room and then, to Jensen's utter shock, Misha had bent and began to remove Jensen's shoes and socks.

"What are you—"

"Sshhh," Misha said firmly. "Jensen, you are a guest in my Sponsor's home and it's my privilege to take care of you. Now stand up."

Shocked into silence, Jensen obeyed and watched as Misha undid his belt buckle and slid his jeans off his hips. "Arms," Misha said, and tugged Jensen's shirt off over his head, leaving Jensen in his boxer shorts. Misha gathered the clothes up into his arms. "I'll wash these. You can borrow something of mine. Get in the bath," and he'd left. Jensen had soaked in the hot, fragrant water and plentiful bubbles for about ten stunned minutes until Misha returned with a towel that he held open and enfolded Jensen in when he stepped out. "There are pajamas on the bed," he said, opening the door into a guest bedroom. "Please make yourself comfortable, and try to get some sleep. Don't worry, I'll make sure you're up to get to set on time." Jensen had stood there, astonished and dripping onto the floor. 

 

***

 

"I'm sorry, sir," Jensen said, finally finding his voice. "I was just surprised. I'm happy for you, of course." His head was full of nightmare scenarios, of being bent over in front of Jared and Kim and Brianna, the entire crew looking on as Jensen took a paddle on his bare ass. You're an actor, dammit, Jensen growled at himself. Act. And he fixed Misha with his best smile. Misha wasn't fooled. He looked at Rowan.

"I don't know," he said. "You and Jensen have worked hard to create something on set. I don't want to upset the balance—"

"Nonsense," Rowan cut him off. "You won't upset anything. Jensen is misunderstanding." She looked at him. "Misha has done some acting in the past, Jensen. You knew this."

"Yes ma'am," Jensen said. Rowan frowned. He wasn't on punishment. 

But she let the formality slide. "I know it will be different for you to have your Handler on set with you. I've told him of the leadership role you take at work, keeping the mood light and the energy good. We both admire that so much, honey, and we don't want to interfere with it." It was true that while on set, Jensen showed perhaps a touch less submission than he showed at home in his household, took on a bit more of a leadership role. "Misha and I have talked about it, and we've already agreed that, barring some drastic act of disobedience on your part, you won't ever be punished on set, Jensen. Nor will you be asked to submit yourself to Misha, just like I've never asked you to publicly submit to me—"

"I will, Rowan. I'll submit whenever you ask—" he said sincerely.

"I know you will," she said firmly. "But we won't ask it of you on set—again, as long as you don't do something outrageously out of line and leave us without another choice. Which we have no reason to expect of you. I know Joanna used to punish you publicly," Rowan said carefully, and Jensen flushed bright red.

"I deserved it," he said.

Rowan was silent a moment. "You know Misha and I are committed to giving you exactly the consequences you require to forgive yourself and to be your very best. We both agree that only under the most extreme circumstances is public discipline appropriate for you. The majority of your infractions are minor and will continue to be handled at home. Rest assured that we will continue to give you exactly what you need without humiliating you unduly. We both admire how hard you work on set, to keep a good attitude and to keep everyone's spirits up. You're a natural leader, and we don't intend to take that away from you."

Jensen nodded and took a moment to collect himself. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "It's not you, Misha. It's just my old—situation. I was nervous. But I trust you both."  
Misha met his eyes, his face full of warmth and compassion. "Thank you, Jensen. Rowan and I understand that this will be a difficult adjustment for you."

"It's ok. Don't worry about me. When do you start?"

"Next week."

Jensen nodded. "Ok. Ok." For a moment, the idea of being required to bend over and pull down his pants for a punishment, on set had set his heart racing. He would do it of course, if they asked it of him. He would do anything Rowan or Misha asked. He took some deep breaths and repeated Rowan's word in his head. They wouldn't punish him publicly unless there was no other choice. Jensen would just make sure it never came to that.

They chatted easily and finished eating quickly. Rowan headed up for a quick shower while Misha and Jensen cleaned up the kitchen. 

"Sorry I freaked out for a minute there," Jensen said, loading plates into the dishwasher. 

"You don't need to keep apologizing," Misha said. "Rowan and I both understand."

"I didn't even ask about the role," Jensen said.

He could hear the smile in Misha's voice as he replied. "Castiel. He's an angel. No laughing."

Too late. Jensen immediately began to chuckle. "An angel? Man, you—"

That was when it happened. He spun quickly to face Misha just as Misha, who had been at the fridge putting strawberries away, moved to face him and they crashed into each other, Jensen's chest pressed into his Handler's. Misha's arms shot out fast and caught him, just as Jensen, unfortunately, put his own arms out to catch Misha. They held one another at the elbows for a second, and then, when they both should have let go—they didn't.

Jensen was grinning. "You've gotta be kidding me. You're kidding me, right?"

Misha's eyes danced. "Haven't you looked at the script? Rowan got her's yesterday."

He hadn't looked, he'd been too worried about today's scenes. "No. So we have angels now? You're going to—what? Sit on Dean's shoulder? Exorcise Sammy? Or—don't tell me. Fall in love with Kate?"

Misha chuckled. "You wanna hear the line?"

Jensen sputtered. He tried not to focus on the feeling of Misha's arms on his, unwilling to interrupt their easy banter. "You saying you already know your lines?"

"Shut up. It's my first week, I'm nervous."

"All right, all right. I’m sorry man. Let's hear it."

Misha fought the smile off his face. Then he cleared his throat and suddenly his gaze was intense on Jensen's eyes. He lowered his chin, his blue eyes boring into Jensen like beams of light, and growled out, "I am the one who gripped you tight and pulled you from perdition."

Jensen's attempt at an easy smile came out half-hearted and quick. Something about Misha's gaze on him, the two of them so close like this—he breathed shallowly through his open mouth. Misha's adam's apple bobbed in his throat and his gaze lowered. . . to Jensen's lips. He was staring at Jensen's lips. Jensen began to quiver. His training as a pleasure slave had taught him that staring at a person's lips signaled strong attraction, as well as exactly how to react in this situation, which was a damned shame. Because his current situation absolutely forbid him from using any of that training, unless Rowan asked him to, and she most certainly had not. He must not step closer, as a Pleasure Slave would. He must not press his groin into Misha's groin, he must not run his fingers through Misha's hair. He shouldn't look down submissively, as doing so was a sign that advances would be—well, submitted to—but meeting Misha's gaze so intensely didn't seem right, either. The urge was nearly impossible. Without meaning to, Jensen's tongue snaked out to wet his lips.

"Jensen-"

"Shit, Clif's here." Rowan's voice rang from down the hall and startled them apart. Jensen whirled back to the dishes and Misha grabbed three coffee cups off the counter and busied himself depositing them in the sink. This was how Rowan found them when she entered the room, wearing jeans and a simple white shirt, her hair damp in waves down her back.

"I'm ready," Jensen said.

"One second," she said. She was looking at Misha. He moved quickly to the study and emerged holding a medium paddle. Jensen immediately focused his attention, standing attentively, expressionless, as Misha handed the paddle to Rowan, shucked down his jeans unceremoniously, and bent across the counter in perfect position. His eyes met Jensen's for a brief moment before Jensen politely looked just to the side.

"What do I owe you?"

"A reminder five, Ma'am," Misha said. "Please."

"My goodness, I'm strict," Rowan said. "Am I terribly strict on you, darling?"

Jensen waited to see how the hell Misha would field that. "You are exactly strict enough, ma'am," Misha said, the barest hint of humor in his voice. It worked. Rowan smiled and gently tugged his boxers down.

"Five it is. No need to count." She raised the paddle and Jensen watched as she slammed it down into Misha's backside with her often surprising strength. Rowan didn't have quite the strength that Jensen and Misha did, though she was strong, and there were times spankings from her could be almost sweet. But she could make them hurt when she wanted to, as she clearly did now. Misha, however, remained silent through the five strokes. Each swat drove him forward slightly but he returned immediately to perfect position, every time. Jensen had seen Misha lose it, but only under severe punishment. He didn't tend to cry through routine paddlings the way Jensen did. 

After the last stroke, Rowan said simply, "Very good, darling," and Misha rose and pulled his boxers and jeans up. Jensen had no idea what Misha was being disciplined for and wouldn't ask, it wasn't his place. 

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and went to put the paddle back in the cabinet just as Clif honked the horn. Rowan was already headed for the door.

"Bye, Mish," Jensen called.

"Just a minute," Misha said. Jensen stopped. Misha emerged from the study and went to Jensen, who for one wild moment wondered if Misha was about to kiss him goodbye. "I want to hear you were very positive and well-behaved today," Misha said. "Stay focused. Be good, Jenny."

"Yes, sir," Jensen nodded. He was grateful for the warning, which would help him focus today, when he was feeling a bit untethered. There was no sign from Misha that anything unusual had just happened between the two of them. Nothing, that is, until Jensen turned to head out the front door and startled, just slightly, as Misha again slapped his ass, right over the welts he had from last night. It wasn't uncommon for Misha to dish out these subtle but effective reminders of Jensen's place in the house, of his duty to submit. However, Jensen couldn't help but wonder if Misha was doing it just a bit more often than normal.


	4. Chapter 4

Every muscle in Jensen's body ached. He'd been stretched over the counter top, in position, for the last four hours. He wasn't allowed to sleep. He didn't know if it was even possible, to sleep in this position, but the fact that Misha and Rowan took it on faith that he would do as he was told meant the possibility of sleep never even entered his mind. His back ached, his neck was stiff, his leg muscles were nearly screaming, but he held himself as still as he could because he'd been ordered to, because he needed this, because he was ashamed.

They hadn't told him when they'd return to deal with him, they didn't owe him that. He'd come home from work just before 2 am and assumed this position immediately. It was going on 6 now. They might leave him like this all day, and he would take it. The need to urinate was growing urgent, he wasn't sure what he would do about that. He'd wait as long as he could. Jensen adjusted his arms, which were starting to droop. He'd hold them properly, even if there was no one there to see.

Then he heard footsteps. He could tell by the heaviness of them that it was Misha. Jensen simply waited, resigned. Misha might be coming down for a drink, to start coffee. He might intend to leave Jensen here for hours. 

He heard Misha open a cabinet. Then Misha was next to him, gently nestling the pitcher—the one they only ever used for this exact purpose—under Jensen's penis. "Go," said Misha.

It took Jensen a moment. This part was deeply humiliating. He let out a deep breath and relaxed and finally released a long stream of urine into the pitcher that Misha held for him. When he was finished, Misha waited a moment in case there was a second stream, and then slid the pitcher away. "Good," he said, and went to leave it in the small bathroom off the garage, where it was understood that Jensen would wash it out later and replace it. In a moment Misha returned with a bottle of water. "Lift your head and drink," he told Jensen, and Jensen obeyed, raising his cheek from the counter while Misha pressed the cold plastic to his lips. He allowed Jensen only three sips. Then he touched Jensen's exposed buttocks lightly—a gesture of support that Jensen was deeply grateful for—and left him.

That was it. Jensen heard Misha set about getting the coffee going, cutting fruit and scrambling egg whites for Rowan's breakfast. Jensen waited, unmoving, determined to maintain perfect position especially while Misha was here. His call time was one pm, he figured they might leave him here until the last possible second, send him to work—possibly with a figg in him as a reminder—and deal with him later. That would be fine. He deserved that, and more.

It wasn't long, however, before Rowan entered the kitchen. He saw her waist as she passed by the counter he was bent over, her green shirt and jeans. After spending a long stretch of the night alone, her very presence was a relief, whether she'd acknowledge him or not. "Good morning, beautiful,” said Misha. 

Jensen heard the sounds of Rowan stirring milk into her coffee, taking a sip. "Are you ready to eat?" Misha asked her.

"Thank you," she said. "But I want to see to this first."

Jensen understood that the "this" was him. He waited.

Rowan walked around so that she was in front of him. "Jensen," she said. "Up."

"Yes ma'am," he said, his voice cracking slightly from disuse. He rose immediately, keeping his feet squared on the ground, his hands clasped behind his back. Rowan was angry, well, she had every right to be. 

"You've spent the last four hours on punishment, Jensen."

"Yes ma'am," said Jensen. He was supposed to stay stony, impassive. Misha always remained expressionless during a punishment session, to make things easier on Rowan, and Jensen wanted to do the same. But he couldn't. He could adhere to his training, the things Misha had taught him about how to stand and what to say, but he couldn't keep the emotion from creeping into his voice. He felt awful. He hated himself for hurting her this way. He was afraid he might cry.

His unbridled regret seemed to soften her. He saw it in her eyes. Then she swallowed hard and raised her chin. "You have to be punished, Jensen," she said, deviating from the usual script. 

"Yes ma'am," he agreed. "Please punish me, I need it. I'm so sorry."

Rowan nodded slowly. "We're going to beat you now, Jensen. Misha and I both feel you need that, to pay for what you did and to remember not to do it again. Since you don't have a full day to recover, it's going to be a mild beating—but it's going to hurt very badly. I've never had to punish you this severely before."

Jensen nodded. "Yes, Row. I need it. Please." He knew he needed punishment, his overwhelming emotions were the desire to pay the price and sheer, nearly giddy gratitude—just two weeks into Misha's stint as Castiel and Jensen had screwed up this badly on set. He couldn't believe they hadn't punished him right there, pulled his pants down and bent him over in front of everybody. He'd certainly deserved it. But they'd done as they'd promised, Rowan silencing him with a look only he could see and a whispered promise to see to him when they got home. He'd almost cried in gratitude right there.

Rowan glanced at Misha before commanding Jensen. "Go get the heavy strap."

Before Jensen could reply, Misha interrupted. "Rowan. We agreed he'd take the cane."

Jensen's breath caught in his chest but he held still. He'd never taken the cane. He'd watched Misha take it once and Misha, who never cried even during a hard strapping, had sobbed. He was afraid of the cane, but he also wanted it. Wanted to make sure that his disrespect, the utter disregard he'd shown for Rowan, was atoned for. He needed harsh punishment to be able to forgive himself.

"I'll take the cane—" he began.

"Don't speak," Rowan snapped. "Hold out your hands."

Recognizing his disobedience, Jensen offered his palms, immediately but gently. From a drawer Rowan produced a short strap and she brought it down across his palms three times. Jensen didn't flinch. "You are being disciplined and will not speak unless spoken too. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am. Thank you," Jensen said. Misha had taught him better, of course. He had to do better. If he kept screwing up like this it would make his Handler look bad.

There was a long moment when Rowan and Misha watched each other. Then Rowan turned to Jensen, her shoulders straight, a firmness in her eyes, and said, "Yes. You're going to take the cane. Get him ready." She turned to retrieve the cane from the study.

Immediately Misha was at Jensen's side, which was good, as Jensen's heart had begun to pound. "You take the cane over the arm of the couch," Misha said. "Come on." Jensen stepped out of his jeans and underwear, which were piled on the floor, and followed Misha automatically, without thinking, the way he'd been taught. It was the only way to survive a punishment like this, Jensen knew. Overthink it, start anticipating the pain, and there was no way he'd be able to hold himself, to submit. Misha applied gentle pressure to his back, and Jensen draped himself over the arm of the gray couch. "Forward a bit. So your ass is nice and high. That's good," Misha commanded. He came and sat on the coffee table, so that Jensen could see him with his head turned to the side. Jensen focused on his eyes. There was nothing in the world but those blue eyes.

Misha managed to make his voice commanding and calming at once. Maybe it was just the fact that it provided Jensen something to anchor himself in. "This is going to be bad," Misha said. "Jenny, this is going to the worst thing we've ever given you. This is the worst punishment you can ever take. A severe beating is bad, but this is worse." When Jensen's eyes went wide, wild for a moment, Misha said, "I'm going to get you through it. We're going to get you through it. Now bite."

He was holding a thin piece of leather at Jensen's mouth. Jensen opened and obediently bit down on it between his teeth. He began to tremble. "With the cane, you get—"

"Nine," Rowan said, emerging from the study with it. "Jensen gets nine."

Misha's face went expressionless. Jensen knew he was surprised but was determined to mask it, for his benefit. Misha, after all, had taken only six strokes of the cane. "Take his hands," Rowan commanded, and Misha obeyed, reaching forward and grasping Jensen's hands. He squeezed. Jensen squeezed back.

"Do you understand why you're being punished, Jensen?" Rowan said.

"Yes ma'am."

“You’re getting the cane is because your offense was so egregious. You were incredibly rude to me in public, Jensen, and yet you were spared public punishment, weren’t you? I would have strapped Misha publicly for that behavior. The cane is necessary to make up for that.”

“I understand, ma’am. Thank you for my punishment.”

"All right. Bite down."

The cane whistled in the air and as it struck Jensen hard across the fullest part of his bottom, he jerked—almost jerked his entire chest up but Misha was there, pushing him down.  
"Don't lose your position," Misha said firmly. "Or this starts over fresh tomorrow. Whatever you do, hold your position."

Jensen sent him a wild-eyed look and then quickly reined himself in. The pain was sharp and blazing and worse than he'd truly thought possible. 

"Bite," said Misha. "Squeeze my hands," and Jensen did.

Rowan whipped the cane down across his flesh a second time, in the exact same place she'd struck the first. Jensen breathed heavily through his clenched teeth, squeezing Misha's hands unashamedly.

Rowan took aim and whipped him a third time, and then a fourth. Jensen moaned after the third. On the fourth, he began to tremble all over, panting heavily into the couch, his hips writhing hard, grinding against the arm rest. 

"It's ok," said Misha. "You're doing fine. The writhing is fine, you can't control that. You're—" he stopped. Jensen was aware that Misha had been given only six with the cane, and that by four he was almost done. But he himself wasn't even halfway through. He was panting, trembling, trying not to scream. "Unclench your bottom," Rowan said, and he moaned, and did. And then, to Jensen and Misha's utter astonishment, Rowan reached out, touched Jensen's bright red bottom, and said gently:

"Jenny. Break."

Then she took aim and cracked the cane down hard across his flesh, the fifth time, and Jensen let out a roar that turned, quickly, into a sob. He went limp and started crying.

"Good," Rowan said.

She caned him again. Number six. He let out a yell that ended as a sob. Then—

"I'm sorry," he cried.

"It's all right, Jensen. You're doing beautifully. Just three more. Can you take three more for me?"

"Yes, Row," he said through the tears, his body shaking, his hips writhing hard. Yes, anything she asked, though it was unbearable.

"Squeeze," Misha said gently. And Jensen did. Misha reached out, then, and stroked his head. "You're doing very well," he said softly.

Rowan aimed—whipped him the seventh time, and then quickly the eighth. Jensen cried loudly, crying out with each stroke, tears streaming down his face.

"You can do this," said Misha. "One more, Jenny."

Jensen nodded. Rowan raised the cane high in the air, and then slammed it into Jensen.

He sobbed.

She threw down the cane and then they both were on him.

"Sshhh, Jenny," Misha murmured, rubbing hands across Jensen's head, his tear-stained face. "You did so well. So well, baby. We're so proud of you."

"You did beautifully, Jensen," Rowan said. Jensen was still crying audibly, gasping and shaking. Misha continued rubbing his back. "So proud of you, Jenny," he said.

"I'm sorry—"

"You're forgiven," Rowan said. "You've paid the price."

"But the crying—"

"It's exactly what you were supposed to do. We love you, Jensen. Misha and I. You did so well. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Jensen nodded, crying. Misha rubbed his back, his hair, and murmured soothing things. Jensen felt so safe here, between the two of them, Misha strong and tender and Rowan giving him exactly what he needed and no more, that his tears flowed anew. "Thank you," he muttered. "Thank you."

"I'm going to put some ointment on your bottom, now," Rowan said. "I'll be very gentle."

"Ok," said Jensen. He drew in a ragged breath. "Misha?" he said, reaching out for him.

"I'm right here, baby," Misha said, gripping Jensen's arm. "You took that so well. So proud of you. Such a good boy."

Jensen cried, holding Misha's arm, three white lines across the thick of his bottom. He cried unashamedly while Misha shushed him, stroking his face, thumbing away the tears. His skin flinched as Rowan touched the ointment to it, but her touch was gentle and he didn't complain.

"Jenny," Rowan said quietly. "You can test us all you want, though I hope you don't need to again. We won't ever punish you on set. You took that beautifully, baby."


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An agreement is reached.

Jensen didn't know exactly how well he'd done for someone who had just begun training six months ago. 

The morning after spilling his guts about Joanna, Jensen had slept late and come down to find Misha in the kitchen, chopping fruit and arranging it onto a plate. He'd smiled at Jensen warmly and immediately poured him a mug of steaming coffee. "Did Ro go somewhere?" Jensen asked, feeling a bit self-conscious. Afraid maybe he'd scared her off. By this time, he'd gotten to know Misha pretty well and hadn't been able to help noticing that the guy was everything, really, a Handler was supposed to be. Calm and kind, yet firm when he needed to be, and right on top of all the operations of the household. 

"Your co-star is not unlike your fake sister," Misha had said, and chuckled at Jensen's lack of comprehension. As much as Jensen liked Misha, the man sometimes spoke in riddles. "They both sleep hard and long. She shouldn't be much longer, though," he glanced at the clock. "I'm supposed to wake her by eleven-thirty." He quirked an eyebrow. "Don't envy me."

"I won't," Jensen said lightly. He immediately regretted it—teasing about Rowan behind her back wasn't totally appropriate—but Misha's responding smile had put him at ease.

Rowan had woken late, joined him and Misha in the kitchen, and then looked at Jensen squarely and said: "Jensen. Misha and I have discussed it and we'd like to offer you a position in our household." Jensen had actually sputtered his coffee. He'd been expected to be shipped back to the Pleasure Houses within a week, and now Rowan was offering to take him in?

"Are you serious?" he blurted.

A smile teased at his co-stars lips. Sometimes she was so much like Kate, or let Kate be so much like herself. "We're serious. I know we don't know each other all that well, Jensen. It's only been a few weeks. But," she shrugged. "I trust you. And I think you may find I have something to offer." She'd raised an eyebrow. He knew what she was referring to. Since the first time she'd scolded him on set and noticed his immediate improvement afterward, she'd taken to occasionally threatening him with spankings when he seemed stressed or moody. It always snapped him back into place. She hadn't known he was un-Sponsored but even if she had, it wouldn't have mattered. High ranking Sponsors like Rowan were allowed to discipline any Male they felt was really asking for it and were rarely asked to account for it. She'd never actually touched him though, probably out of respect for the Sponsor she'd thought he had.

"But—the papers. All the forms and contracts. . . I didn't bring anything with me. I had to leave my old house quickly." He flushed at the shame. It was a stigma that could follow a Male for the rest of his life, being abandoned by a Sponsor.

Rowan smiled softly. "I took care of it last night."

"You—you what?"

"I hope you don't mind. I have all the forms in order here, and a contract printed up. All you have to do is sign and you'll be one of ours." She frowned slightly. "Jensen—you didn't tell me Joanna Banks was your Sponsor. I know her. Or used to."

"No," Jensen said. "I'm—I should have—"

Rowan just held up a hand. Her eyes showed concern. "Did she break you?" She asked simply, avoiding the word another Sponsor might use: ruin.

Jensen attempted a self-assured smile but it faltered as soon as he saw: Rowan knew about Joanna, and she understood. It was more than a fair question to ask of any male she was considering bringing into her house and supporting. Had his ability to serve been destroyed? Jensen answered honestly. "No," he said quietly. "I wasn't with her long enough."

"Good," Rowan said, apparently trusting him to have told the whole truth, an honor he would not take lightly. "It wouldn't have changed the offer, but we would have needed to take special considerations. You don't have to decide today, honey. You have another week until you're technically unsponsored. As for the details of the contract—"

"Yes," Jensen said. Rowan paused and looked at him. His gaze darted nervously from her to Misha. "Yes, please. If you're sure you're willing to have me—yes, absolutely."

The smile again at the corners of Rowan's mouth. "You should see the contract first," she said, and put a piece of paper before him. Jensen scanned it quickly, it was pretty basic. "We do most forms of discipline here, from mild—mouth-washing, corner time, extra chores—to severe. Misha and I will both take care to make sure you are never punished too much or too little, but if we feel you warrant it, we could give you the strap, or even the cane. Have you ever taken a cane, Jensen?"

"Only once, in training. I'm trained to take it."

"It's difficult, " Misha said. "But we wouldn't give it to you if you couldn't handle it."

"Fine," Jensen nodded. Joanna had preferred humiliating him publicly to severe, but private, punishments at home. He'd rather take anything in private than suffer again through the public spankings Joanna had often given him, usually just on her own whims, stopping to turn him over her knee and yank down his jeans when he was carrying her shopping bags or talking to the Motor Vehicle people for her.

"Misha will continue to see to most of the domestic duties, since you work outside the home," Rowan said. "But he's not a servant, or your father, and you should make a point of cleaning up after yourself."

"Of course," said Jensen. He was distantly aware that some degree of professionalism was warranted here, so he tried to make it look like he was listening to Rowan and considering her words. The truth was he couldn't wait to get his fingers around a pen and sign his name. He wasn't worried about signing on as a Bonded Male to Rowan, even though she did play his little sister on their TV show. He and Rowan had already established a comfortable rhythm. He looked out for her on set and goofed around with her. He ordered her around as Dean and acted coolly amused when she fought back. Dean and Kate fought passionately when was required, and then Jensen cracked Rowan up as soon as the director yelled cut. He felt tender toward her and a little protective of her, despite the fact, or maybe because of the fact, that she occasionally threatened to put him over her knee and spank him raw. 

He realized Rowan was talking. ". . .we won't do anything serious until Misha and I both have a chance to get to know you a bit better and figure out what might work best for you."

"But I will start training you right away," Misha said. 

"You’re going to train me?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No," Jensen said. "Hell no, it isn't. I think it's a great idea. At Banks Household I was just expected to know what to do and punished when I couldn't figure it out," he said. Misha frowned. 

"They did a very poor job with you, Jensen. Rowan won't treat you that way. And neither will I."

"Ok. I mean, I know you won't. But. . ." a thought had occurred to Jensen. He hadn't allowed himself to think about it before, but until now, Rowan had been sleeping with Misha only. And Misha had had Rowan all to himself. He liked Misha a lot, and didn't want to ruin the easy camaraderie that had formed between them.

"What is it?" Misha said.

"How do you feel about this, man? I mean, do you want me. . . I mean. . ." he blushed bright red. He just couldn't find an non-embarrassing way to say, Will I be pleasuring Rowan and will you hate me for it. "I mean, do you and Rowan—"

"Here," Rowan said, kindly saving him from himself. "Is it this you're trying to ask about, honey?"

He looked at the section of the contract her finger was on:

 

Sexual Activity Will Be:   
1\. Required (specify frequency below)  
2\. Welcomed, but not required  
3\. Not forbidden, but neither welcomed  
4\. Forbidden

 

Rowan had drawn a neat red circle around option B. Welcome, but not required. He felt awkward, but Rowan was so matter of fact about it that it erased any strangeness. "Ok," Jensen said. He swallowed thickly. "All right."

Something went soft in Rowan's face. "I know you feel," she hesitated, "conflicted about your experiences in the Pleasure Houses. We want you to know that Misha and I think your training as a Pleasure Slave is something to be admired, Jenny. Something to be proud of. Jared brags about it often enough," she said, and Jensen huffed out a small laugh. "But I won't require you to use what you learned there in my house. At least, not until we’ve established trust in our relationship. For now, how you conduct your sexuality is up to you. " 

Jensen nodded, then sheepishly glanced at Misha. "And that's ok with you, man?"

Misha's smile was warm and bemused. "Of course it is, Jenny. I would never want to deny you or Rowan whatever pleasures you have to offer one another. "  
It took all of the training in courtly arts Jensen had received to simply nod his head and say thank you. The truth was, he was attracted to Rowan, and he thought—he wasn't sure, but he suspected—that she was attracted to him. If she had told him she wanted him to use his slave training every night for the rest of his life, he would have obeyed, and gladly, considering what she was giving him, and how sweet she was, how strong. But he wasn't crazy about the idea, and he was relieved to hear that he wouldn't be required to use the Arts.

Of course, what Rowan hadn't mentioned at the time—because who could have imagined it would matter—was that sexual contact between two household Males was forbidden without the express permission of the Sponsor. It was part of a Males’ most basic training, Rowan never would have thought it was something that required mentioning. Plenty of Sponsors had their males pleasure each other, from time to time or even regularly, depending on the Sponsors own preferences. But to do it without her permission was something Rowan never would imagine Misha and Jensen capable of. It would have been an unimaginable betrayal.


	6. Chapter Six

Hours after getting him through his caning, Misha watched Jensen from across the set. He was ostensibly going over his lines, sitting in the chair with his name on it, while Jensen teased Rowan, sparkling his eyes at her, and Rowan swatted at him playfully. The truth was, Misha couldn't take his eyes off Jensen, nor could he put himself in close proximity to the man. He didn't trust himself.

"All right, everybody," Phyllis said. "Do you think we could do it one more time but possibly with less suck?"

"Oh that's real nice," Jensen grinned, nodding. "Maybe if some director could remember that when she changes the blocking, she has to change the lighting—"

"All right, all right," Phyllis groaned good-naturedly. "I'll take that one. But you gotta admit, Jared over here is stinking up the joint—"

"I had the pork," Jared said, and everyone cracked up. Misha smiled to try to fit in while Jensen went on about how they should blame Jared, because he himself was awesome.

Coming to work on set had been a revelation for Misha. Until his first day working with Rowan and Jensen, he hadn't been aware exactly how much he'd been missing. Jensen was completely different at work, almost a different person. The directors and producers obviously trusted him completely, or else they wouldn't allow Jensen to speak to them in such a casual manner. He was confident and incredibly talented and he always managed to keep everybody laughing—all this while looking out for Rowan, bringing her drinks, pausing frequently during rehearsal to say "Did that feel all right? Do you wanna try it like this? Can we give it one more take?" Misha watched now as Jensen extended his arm and Rowan leaned into his chest. He swallowed hard. He wanted Jensen's arm around his own shoulders so badly it hurt.

Misha flinched visibly when Rowan's eyes cut to him and quickly darted away. Oh, he was an ass. A terrible person. He would have dropped to his knees to apologize if confessing that he wanted to see his Second naked and writhing wouldn't get them both thrown in the Pens. Instead he cleared his throat and looked away. 

"Hey man," Jensen said, startling Misha from his thoughts. "I'm gonna play it a bit angrier this next take, ok?'

"Yes, sir," Misha said distractedly. 

Jensen was taken aback. "What?" he said. "Dude, are you--ok?"

"Sorry," Misha said. It was a terrible effort to drag his eyes off Jensen's lips. "That sounds—yeah that's fine. You can—you know, hit me or grab me if you want. If it feels right."

Jensen's lips parted and for a moment the two men stood with their gazes on each other.

"Grab you, or. . . hit you," Jensen said. "Right."

"For the scene," Misha said, squeezing his eyes shut briefly against images of Jensen grabbing him by the trenchcoat's lapels, maybe giving him a few swats on the ass before slamming him up against a wall and putting his lips—those full, pink lips—

"The scene," Jensen said. "Right." He cleared his throat and moved away quickly when Phyllis called places. 

Misha resisted the urge to give Jensen's ass a swat as he sauntered away in his dark blue jeans, Dean's jeans. They'd promised not to humiliate Jensen on set unless he absolutely needed it, and Misha intended to keep that promise. Not that a swat on the bottom would humiliate Jensen, by any means, but it would set him up as more of a submissive, perhaps, than the leader he became at work. It was uncomfortable, being Jensen's Handler at work. It was Misha's duty to handle Jensen, yet there were times Misha longed for Jensen to take the reins and handle him. At night he was kept awake by fantasies of Jensen performing all manner of Handler duties upon Misha—bending him over Bobby's desk and spanking him before the crew, sending him to work with a slave collar, strapping his ass red and then making him film all day in slave breeches, his red ass exposed for cast and crew to see. The fantasies were beginning to make it difficult for Misha to command Jensen the way he needed to. He'd even figged himself for it yesterday, had come to work with a hot piece of shaved ginger in his ass. 

Phyllis called action. 

"Can we just calm down for a second," Rowan said, as Kate. "Ok? The two of you going all Cain and Abel over this isn't going to help any—"

Dean was on him with a shocking intensity. Misha snapped into Castiel, which was the only thing that allowed him to stand his ground and not stumble backwards under Dean's—Jensen's, whatever—onslaught. "Calm down? You're telling me the only way out of this is to bend over and let Michael have his way with me, and you want me to calm down?" 

Misha couldn't move. He couldn't speak. There was a long breath, and then another. Jensen was just inches from him, totally in his personal space. Misha had a line. He knew he had a line but all he could hear was "bend over" and "have his way" and he couldn't breathe.

Jensen quirked one eyebrow.

"Still rolling," said Phyllis.

"I—I'm sorry," Misha said, smiling sheepishly, and Jensen stepped back into place. Jensen wasn't annoyed, Misha knew, he was just this way on set—unlike Jared and himself, Jensen rarely broke.

"Let's go again, " said Phyllis. "Misha, you need the line, sweetheart?"

Misha nodded.

"I fail to comprehend what bending over has to do with anything. Surely you're more use to Michael standing," read Karen, the line guide.

Oh sweet Jesus. Were the writers doing this to him on purpose? Did they know? Misha glanced to Rowan for some grounding, but she was Kate. Her eyes on him were stony and angry, holding deeply buried concern for Dean. 

If Jensen knew what was going on, he gave no sign of it. Typical Jensen, the consummate professional. Jared looked amused but he'd pull it together the second they started rolling.

"Action," said Phyllis.

"Look, guys, can we bust—shit—" Rowan stepped back, waved her hand, her 'just a second signal'. She took a breath. "Look, guys, can we just calm down for a second? Ok? You two going all Cain and Abel over this isn't going to help any—"

Misha was ready this time. Dean advanced upon him—"Calm down? He's telling me the only way out of this is to bend over and let Castiel have his way with me—"

"Michael," said Karen.

"Cut it."

"What'd I say?" Jensen said.

"Castiel have his way with me."

Jensen's eyes shut briefly. A small smile played on his lips. He released Misha's trench coat and shook his head as if to clear it. Stepping back into place, he fixed his posture. Misha knew he was resolving to get through this. 

"Let’s go back to one," said Phyllis. "Jen, I like what you're doing. Go at him as hard as you want, really give it to him, man. Mish, just do whatever feels Castiel."

Jensen actually shook his head and chuckled. 

"Is it just me or is this the gayest scene we've shot so far?" said Jared.

Rowan put her head in her hands, rubbing her sinuses. Jensen and Misha's eyes met across the room. They nodded at each other. They'd get through this, quickly, for her sake. 

"Action."

Silence. Nobody moved.

"Rowan?"

Rowan snapped one hundred percent into Kate. "Look, guys, can we just calm down for a second? Ok? You two going all Cain and Abel over this isn't going to help—"

"Calm down? You're telling me the only way out of this is bend over and let Michael have his way with me no I won't calm down," Dean said, furious and in his face. Not Misha's face, but Castiel's. Misha let go and surrendered himself to the character.

"I fail to comprehend what bending over has to do with anything. Surely you'd be more use to Michael standing up."

Dean's eyes searched his for a moment before he released his hold on Castiel with a little shove and turned, pacing back in the room toward Kate and Sam, who watched Dean with fear shining in their eyes.

"Look," Kate said. "We're going to find another way." Her eyes shifted to Sam for back up.

"Yeah, Katie, what if there's not another way?" Dean sounded so broken, Castiel's heart nearly broke.

Katie went from hopeful and firm to pissed. "Shut up," she said. She shot Castiel the angriest look she'd ever given him, if Cas was human, he might have fainted dead away. "Damnit, Dean, just shut up. There's another way. There always is." She was on the verge of tears now. Kate blinked them back, trying to make herself hard and strong for her big brother. Though she'd cry around Sam, Katie hated Dean to see her soft. "There must be."

Dean's instinct, as always, was to look out for Sam and Kate. Put them before himself. Castiel gazed at him with deep compassion as he straightened his posture and gave Kate his small, cocky smile. "Don't worry, Katie. We'll get outta this one." Then he turned and fixed his eyes hard on Castiel. "We have to."

Castiel gazed at Dean.

"Cut it. Great job, folks. Let's check the gates, if the gates are good we're moving on."

Misha let out a deep breath of relief and, smiling, nodded at Jensen. Sometimes the characters were such a relief.

 

Things had improved somewhat, but not entirely, that day on set. Jensen had held it together, but at lunch Misha had pulled Rowan aside and asked her to spank him. "I just can't focus, today," he said. She took him into his trailer where he unceremoniously removed his belt and handed it to her before pushing down his pants. "No," Rowan said gently. "You don't need the belt." Misha had been afraid that she wouldn't give him as hard a discipline as he needed to pull himself together. He draped himself across her lap and the next thing he felt was the cool, flat back of the wooden hairbrush on his skin before Rowan had raised it and smacked it down across his ass. She continued to spank him hard with the hairbrush, without any warm up to prepare his skin, until Misha began to buck and writhe under the pain. Rowan had spanked him for a good while, until Misha finally went limp and didn't cry audibly, the way Jensen did, but shed a few tears. He felt bad asking Rowan to do this to him, he knew it was hard on her, but if he didn't take something he was only going to hurt her worse. Finally Rowan had said "ten more" and delivered the final ten hard across the backs of his thighs. Misha panted heavily and writhed over her lap, his bottom red and pulsing. He needn't have worried. The spanking had been hard enough to relieve all his stress and built up desire and left his brain feeling clean and empty, whisked away his guilt. He lay over Rowan's lap for a few minutes while she rubbed his bottom and back. When the basecamp PA had knocked on the door and told them they had five minutes, Misha had moved to stand. Rowan had pressed him gently on the lower back and said, quietly,

"It's ok, Misha. It's all ok."

Back on set, Jensen could tell Misha had been spanked. But he didn't ask why. He was just relieved to see his friend and Handler seemed lighter, unburdened. Gen had arrived at lunch and taken Jared into his trailer, the entire set had soon heard the sound of Jared taking a strap, the loud smacks and Jared's unashamed wailing, which had put Jared back into a better place, taken the wildness and the edge out of his antics so that he was just entertaining, goofy Jared again. Gen hung around on set the rest of the day. During breaks Rowan spent most of her time with her, the two of them laughing and giggling until they were in tears. It was a good day.

 

***

It was after one pm when Misha went upstairs to wake Rowan. The two of them had a three pm call time, Jensen's wasn't until 6 pm, so Misha allowed his Second Male to keep sleeping, seeing as how they had all filmed until sunrise this morning, a physically demanding scene that had involved an outdoor night time fight scene with plenty of stunts and coreography. Rowan liked a little time to relax before she went into work, but he was still worried he might be waking her too early. So he was surprised that when he knocked on her door softly, she immediately answered "Come in," and not in a sleepy voice.

"Hey," she said, smiling at him from her bed. Her hair was wet from a shower and she was reading a book. 

"Hey," he said. "You should have told me you were up. I would have brought coffee."

"I didn't want to wake you, after last night. And believe it or not, I am capable of making my own coffee. You know, when I get really desperate," she smiled.

"I'll go make you a latte--"

"Mish," Rowan said, and when he turned back to her, Rowan was smiling her unmistakeable smile. 

"Rowan," Misha said, his voice suddenly teasing and husky.

"Take your shirt off."

"Yes ma'am," he said, smiling, and obeyed, lowering his arms and then raising him to strip off the black t-shirt he was wearing. Misha had served in Rowan's household for ten years, since she was 16 and he was 26. She had been an exceptionally young sponsor, hell, she was still young, for someone of her level and standing. Though their first years had been rough, after all this time they had established such a companionable relationship. They knew all one another's signals and moods--Rowan knew Misha's moods too well, it was a bit uncanny sometimes. Anyway, one of the results of being with the same Sponsor for so long was that they didn't need a lot of preamble to do what they were so clearly about to do. She crooked her finger at him and he went to her at the bed, acting on instinct and kneeling down on the floor next to where she sat.

Rowan smiled her sexy, knowing smile. She pushed the covers back, revealing her legs, bare beneath the casual summer dress she had on. Running one hand through Misha's hair, she rotated her body, spreading her legs and passing one over is head so that she sat with his head between her thighs. Misha moved closer, feeling the soft skin of her lower things against his neck.

"What do you want to do, baby?" she said.

"I want to make you come."

Rowan let out a soft little groan. "Mmmm. You've been such a good boy lately, I'll allow it."

This sent a pang of guilt through Misha's heart, but he pushed it away to focus on where he was now, with his Sponsor. Who he loved. He had always loved Rowan. Since the day he had first laid eyes on her, a fierce and sad girl with watchful eyes, too young to be a Sponsor but forced into it by circumstance, whose first words to him had been "On your knees, Male West," claiming him, giving him her name, and he'd sworn to himself he'd never hurt her. He knew he would inevitably fail her, disobey her, let her down--but he hadn't ever intentionally hurt her.

Pushing those thoughts away, Misha reached up slowly and took the waist of her underwear in his fingers, tugging it gently down. She pushed up on her palms and raised her hips, allowing him to remove them. He pressed his face into the place between her legs and inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, immediately hard. Then he ran his fingers down her leg, from the cleft of the thigh to the delicate skin over the ankle. He put his lips to her ankle and kissed, kissed one leg all the way up--Rowan shivered when he kissed the skin on the back of her knee--moving slowly all the way up to her soft folds, and then back down. One leg, then the other, he kissed like this, slowly, worshipfully. Then he ran one hand underneath her bottom, digging his fingers into the soft flesh there, and Rowan moaned. She grabbed his hair again and pulled him toward the place between her legs and he went willingly, kissing first the top of her mound, and then her inner thighs, teasing her, reaching one hand up to gently stroke her breasts--so very gently, Rowan didn't like rough touch here. He knew that, he knew her body, he adored it. 

"Take off your pants," she said. "Let me see you."

Keeping his eyes on her, Misha moved back slightly and unbuckled his belt. Then he stood to pull off his jeans and his underwear, his cock springing to life in its new freedom. He watched Rowan take him in, hoping he'd been working out enough lately--it had been an adjustment, taking the role on the show, working outside the home for the first time in awhile. She looked pleased enough, putting her hands on his hips and pulling him toward her, then turning him.

"Bend over," she said.

"Yes ma'am," said Misha, a sensual 'yes ma'am', not a scolded one, and bent forward. Rowan smacked him once on each buttock, then dug her fingers into his cheeks, pulling them apart.

"You want a figg there, don't you baby," she said.

"Oh god, Ro. Yes," he said, wondering how she knew what he was craving, what he felt he needed. He stayed in position as she pulled her nightstand open and removed something, he couldn't see what. Not a proper ginger figg, but a medium sized plug. "Try to relax," she said, and he did, and she slid the plug in, wiggling it a little inside him. It stretched him, not hurting him exactly, but making him incredibly full.

"How's that, darling?"

"So good, Ro," he breathed. She smacked his ass again, twice more, and then said "Up," and he stood, and she turned him back to her. She laid back on the bed and put her hand on herself and rubbed, and he knew she was ready.

"May I please make you come, Ro?" he said.

Rowan nodded and Misha practically dove between her legs, burying himself in her, kissing and licking and caressing until Rowan was bucking beneath him, gasping, moaning, until she came, her fingers in his hair, urging him into her. "Oh god, Mish," she said, panting. Misha pulled back slightly, away from her clitoris, which would be incredibly sensitive right now, and waiting, running his hands over her stomach and thighs, enjoying her pleasure. Finally, after she had recovered, she opened her eyes slightly and looked at him and smiled.

"Come in me, baby," she said. She didn't sit up so he knew he was allowed to enter her from above, a privilege he had earned years ago, but one he didn't take for granted. Gently, slowly, keeping his eyes on her for any sign of discomfort or displeasure, he entered her. Rowan hooked her legs around his back and ran her hands down his chest, down his arms, back up through his hair, then pulled his mouth toward her and kissed him deeply, and with a deep sweet release that ran from the tip of his head to the bottom of his toes, Misha came.

 

Afterwards, they both recovered their breath and laid together for awhile, snuggled beneath Rowan's clean white sheets, not talking much. Just being together. Finally Rowan glanced at her phone and said "I guess we'd better get that coffee going if we're not going to be late." The afternoon sun was warm and golden through her window. Misha stood and bent to get his clothes, and was shrugging on his shirt when Rowan said, "Sweetheart, is there anything I need to know about with you and Jensen?"

She said it casually, as she too was rising and gathering her underwear and dress off the floor, stepping back into them. For one brief moment Misha considered dropping to his knees and confessing everything--that he was struggling with attraction to his Second, who he was pretty sure was struggling with attraction to him. It wasn't wrong, after all, not exactly. To act on the feelings without Rowan's permission would be wrong, but Rowan had never been one of those Sponsors who monitored her Males' every thought and desire. It was natural for males to feel an attraction for one another--but it seemed to Misha that there was something more than mere attraction between him and his Second. It wasn't a passing attraction, it was something that had gripped ahold of Misha's heart, and was taking up his full attention. He knew he should confess. But something made him open his mouth and lie. 

"No," he said casually, shocking himself with just how well he lied. "Nothing I can think of. He's adjusting well, I think. Do you not agree?"

"No, I agree," Rowan said. "He's doing beautifully. I just wanted your opinion, as his Handler."

"He's easy to handle," Misha said, flushing around his neck, praying Rowan wouldn't notice.

"Good," she said, and then glanced at his ass, where the black end of the plug still protruded from his opening. He wouldn't remove it without her permission. For a moment she looked as if she was considering leaving it in him for the day, and he realized he wanted her to--a secret punishment, one only he would understand--but then she said, "Come here," and pulled it out gently, handing it to him to be washed and replaced. 

"I'll be up in a moment with a latte," he said. Rowan beamed at him.

"What did I do to deserve you?" she smiled.

A slick and oily feeling settled in Misha's belly as he went down the stairs.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen's training begins

"Please," Jensen whispered. He wet his lips and looked into Joanna's angry eyes. "Please, Jo. Not here."

They were at the music store. Joanna had noticed the way Jensen had been picking up Chad's guitar and messing around with it whenever he got the chance, and now she'd offered to take him out and buy him one of his own, on a rare day when he had managed to please her, waking her up with his tongue on her clit, giving her a quick orgasm, and then leaving her with a cup of tea and the new issue of Vogue. They'd come to the music store Joanna brought them too often, always shopping for things for her other males, where he'd spent hours browsing the racks and getting to know the employees. His favorite of whom, a blue-haired, tattooed Second named Floyd, was now standing right behind them and looking politely away.

Joanna's eyes flashed anger. "That's extra for defying me, Jensen. How dare you? Hand me your belt and bend over, or I will make sure you regret it. For weeks."

Jensen had no choice. He went red from his hairline to his clavicle, murmured under his breath, "Yes ma'am--"

"What?" Joanna interrupted him.

He cleared his throat. It took every bit of willpower Jensen had, every bit of his training which had taught him to obey his Sponsor's orders at any cost, at any time, to put all her needs above his own and submit in any way she required. "Yes ma'am," he said loudly, and quickly removed his belt. He handed it to Joanna. Tried to do it without thinking, the way he'd been taught but found that impossible, here in front of everyone. Heads were beginning to turn in their direction. It was by no means unheard of for a Male to be disciplined in public, but the majority of times Sponsor's waited to handle matters in private, and it was definitely a spectacle.

Joanna inclined her head toward a bench that was there for people to sit on while trying out instruments. "Pants down. Ass up. Now."

"Yes ma'am," Jensen said, swallowing bile of humiliation. He was doing what he must for Joanna, he told himself. She needed this from him, he would provide it. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, slid them down, and then started to lower himself across the bench, shaking.

"Boxers too."

Jensen paused. Burning with shame, he slid his boxers off his bottom and then stretched himself along the length of the thin, wooden bench, putting his hands behind the back of his head the way Joanna had taught him. He'd spent a lot of time playing submissive in Pleasure Houses, but always behind closed doors. Some of his clients had been incredibly inventive but this, this was the worst agony he'd ever known. He closed his eyes and waited for it to be over with. He hoped that, after this, he would never have to come here again.

To his utter horror, Joanna said, "What are you being punished for, Jensen?" She intended to take him through the entire routine here, in front of everyone. Jensen opened his mouth but no words would come out.

"Jensen, do I need to get my strap-on?" cautioned Joanna. She'd done it in private but not yet in public, strapping on a cock and taking him hard up the ass, but she could. Jensen knew, she could.

"I’m being punished for disobeying you, ma’am. I need my butt strapped hard—"

"Jensen. Jenny. Hey, hey, hey. It's ok, baby. It's ok."

Jensen sat up, sweating in his bed sheets. He was waiting for the sting of the strap to land on his ass in front of all these people and when he realized where he was, beautiful relief washed over him so strongly that he gasped out a breath and, unthinking, crashed his forehead into Misha's chest, resting in the safe space.

Misha, sitting on Jensen's bed in jeans and no shirt, his hair wet from a shower, put one arm around Jensen's back and rubbed. "It's just me," Misha said quietly. "You're safe here." After a moment Jensen felt ridiculous and pulled away, falling back against his pillows.

"Joanna again?" Misha said carefully.

Jensen sighed before nodding.

"She was an abusive Sponsor, Jensen. You don't owe her any of the typical respect."

Jensen took some deep breaths. Normally it would be such bad form it was forbidden, to speak any ill of a former Sponsor, a woman who had taken him from the Pleasure Houses and brought him into her household, paying for all his needs, feeding and clothing and giving him a home. Misha and Rowan told him that he didn't owe Joanna any of that respect. It was still difficult for Jensen to be convinced. She had supported him for two years, after all. And he'd seen the contract with his own eyes, where she'd listed herself "Extremely dominant" and circled "My pleasure is required at all times, at any moment", an option Rowan hadn't even bothered listing on her contract. "Too vague. It could mean anything," she'd said. "You're terrible at protecting me, Jenny," Joanna had told him often, and she'd been right. He had hovered over her protectively when she'd wanted him to submit. He had submitted when she'd wanted his protection.

"Jensen," Misha said firmly, snapping Jensen's thoughts back to the moment. "You take excellent care of Rowan," he said, as if reading his mind. "Just last night you took a severe beating to show her how much you'd do for her. Rowan feels safe with you, I can tell. And you are safe with us. You are safe here, and we're never going to hurt you. Ok?"

Jensen nodded. "Ok."

"I just want to take a look at your back, baby," Misha said. "Just to make sure you're all right. Is that ok?"

His consideration brought tears to Jensen's eyes. Misha didn't have to ask him for permission to do anything. "Of course," he said, and flipped over onto his stomach, stretching out with his arms around a pillow. He trusted Misha.

"Jenny," Misha said. "I promise never to punish you publicly unless the only other option is asking you to leave. Ok? It's not right for you. Rowan and I understand that. Me, on the other hand. . . " Misha trailed off. Jensen chuckled. Last week Misha had taken his first Public from Rowan on set. She'd grabbed his arm, turned him sideways, and spanked him over his jeans five times fast, while the entire cast and crew had looked on, pausing briefly at the rarity of the sight. A few minutes later, Rowan had succumbed to Misha's longing glances, the heat in his eyes, and said "I need a ten, ok?" Nobody had missed the way Misha practically ran after her into her trailer, or the bulge in his pants as he did. Then, while Rowan took Misha and gave him the good fucking he so obviously needed, Jensen had had to go to his trailer and pleasure himself, fixated on the sight of Misha's erection through his Cas-pants. At least Jensen's arousal had remained private. 

"You're bleeding in a few places. This is going to be painful for you today," Misha said matter-of-factly. Jensen sensed he was making an effort to keep any sympathy out of his voice. It would have been highly inappropriate for him to show any regret that Jensen had submitted to discipline. "But at least you can be proud," Misha went on. "Rowan seems better already."

An usually difficult week for their girl was what had lead up to Jensen taking a discipline last night without actually having done anything to have earned it. The week's shooting schedule had been particularly difficult on her. It was a Kate-heavy episode, Sam and Dean's storylines just background threads—until the scene they were to shoot today, anyway—and an emotionally draining one for her at that. Add to that the fact that they were working with a new director, and that Kate had had to shoot a sex scene that she'd gone into exhausted, after fighting the way the scene had initially been written--as a rape scene. Rowan had put her foot down against it, and they had settled on a one night stand scene. The director had wanted her to reveal more than she was comfortable with, more than was required in her contract. Finally it had become too much, Rowan had come home last night crying, and, Jensen could see clearly, feeling incredibly vulnerable and alone. "Ro, I'll do anything to protect you," Jensen had said. He wished he had taken action sooner, stayed with her on set, offered more support, but since he hadn't, he offered the only thing he had left. "And I should have done it sooner. Give me a beating," he'd said firmly, looking at Misha. "To show you how strong I am. To show you what lengths I'll go to for you." Misha had nodded and immediately begun to take him in hand, commanding him loudly and sharply to help Jensen ignore his own fear, the trembling that had started in his body as he went to retrieve the heavy strap and strip himself completely naked, lay himself across the bed so that he didn't have to bear his own weight—he wouldn't be able to, under a hard beating.

"My only regret," Misha said. "Is that I didn't think to do what you did, sooner."

Jensen hesitated. "Well. . . we don't have the same training," he said. Jensen had been trained as a pleasure slave from the age of consent--16. But even before that, he'd received pre-slave training, which had taught him to closely monitor his Sponsor's needs so that he could meet them. "Frankly, I should have known sooner, too. Hey. Sorry about the crying last night. "

"Jensen," Misha admonished softly. "It is perfectly acceptable to cry during any punishment at all. You know this."

"I know. But, I mean. You never cry."

"When Rowan spanks me, I do," Misha said quietly.

Jensen thought about this a moment. "So it's the guilt, then, that gets you. Not the pain."

"It's not a lack of tears," Misha said, "but the fact that you knew something was going to be severely painful, and you took it anyway, that speaks to Rowan and shows her how strong you are. I'm going to put some ointment on these when you get out of the shower," Misha sighed. His fingers ran a feather-light line down Jensen's back, from the base of his skull all the way down. . . down. . . to the cleft in Jensen's ass. Jensen couldn't help it, he sucked in his breath quickly.

Misha's hand drew back immediately. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"Um," Jensen said. "No. I mean—yes. A little. No. It's just—" He squeezed his eyes shut. What was wrong with him? Suddenly Misha's fingers were on the skin of his buttocks, grazing lightly over the welts and scarring tissue. Jensen stopped breathing and held himself as still as possible. He was such an idiot. He'd been thinking, from the way Misha looked at him—the few times he'd caught his eyes on him after a take, the way Misha had begun to stumble distractedly over certain lines to Dean—that maybe, maybe, Misha was having the same feelings for Jensen that Jensen was for him. But it was clear Misha had no idea. How could he? He was, after all, an appropriate Male and Handler, always obedient to his training, always everything he should be. He would never dream of the fantasies Jensen had allowed himself. And the fantasies were wrong. He had to stop them. He knew what he needed.

Jensen took a deep breath. "Mish? I'm gonna need you to punish me for something, as soon as you can."

Jensen could practically feel Misha's frown. "It'll have to wait a week at least, until you're healed. Unless you feel the rice and maybe a figging are appropriate. I could strap your thighs, but I'd rather not have you sore in two places unless absolutely necessary. What do you need punishment for, baby? You've been so good these last few weeks."

For dreaming of you, Jensen thought. For lying awake at night imagining your arms around me, your mouth against mine, the feeling of your dick hard inside my mouth, filling up my--

"Hey," Rowan's voice at the door, warm and happy. Jensen rolled halfway to glance at Misha, who subtly inclined his chin toward Ro, indicating that Jensen was not under discipline and should attend to her. Then Misha swiftly pulled the sheet up over Jensen's back, so that Rowan wouldn't have to see it. They tried to keep these things from her, when they could.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Jensen said, and meant it. He lifted up one arm and Rowan climbed into bed with him, snuggling her back up against his chest. Her energy was a thousand times lighter than it had been yesterday. She was showered but in her light lilac silk robe. She let out a happy moan, setting back against his chest. Jensen wrapped one arm across her hips and pulled her toward him. He had a huge erection, which she would feel, but it didn't matter. She would figure it was for her--which made Jensen feel duplicitous, and he knew he would have to ask Misha for punishment for that, as well--and she knew she could ignore it or attend to it, as she chose.

"Thank you for last night," she said quietly.

"You're welcome," Jensen said into her ear. He was still aware of Misha behind him, sitting level with his ass, and it occurred to him that this was pretty much the happiest place he'd ever been in his life, with his Sponsor before him and his Handler behind him. He wanted to take care of them. He wanted to protect them. He wanted to hold them both in his arms every night and make sure nothing bad ever happened to either one of them. "You feel better about today?"

"I feel great about it," she said. "After what you did for me."

"Good," Jensen said, nestling his face into neck. "I'd do anything for you, Ro. Anything."

"I know," she said. "I know that now. We love you, Jensen. Misha, and I."

"I love you too," Jensen said. He kissed her neck, her shoulder—

"Excuse me," Misha said. He stood so abruptly he nearly tripped and hurried from the room. Jensen's eyes followed him, worried, but Rowan didn't seem to notice. He tried to push all thoughts of Misha from his mind.

 

***

 

Jensen's training for West Household, Second Male, had begun just two days after he signed the contract. Misha had secured Rowan a hotel room. As soon as she'd left, Misha had brought Jensen into his office and sat down at his desk, offering Jensen the seat across from him.

"This is my standard Handler's contract," he'd said. "I'm sure you had similar at Banks Household."

Jensen had fought hard not to wince. Joanna's training had involved tying him down—Jensen hated to be bound, especially since it took away his ability to prove that he could hold, could submit himself, without any bindings—fastening on her strap on, and fucking him hard from behind, completely dry, Chad standing over and whipping him with a flogger when he screamed. He had learned not to scream. After Joanna had had her way, coming loudly and ejaculating all over his ass and thighs, Jensen had been untied—and required to bend over and allow Chad, and then Sebastien, to fuck him again. Sebastien, at least, had lubed himself somehow before inserting it into Jensen's ass, but at that point it hadn't mattered much. Jensen had already been raw and bleeding and trembling with the effort not to sob. Crying during a session was strictly forbidden in Joanna's household.

He'd swallowed hard, realizing he had no idea what he had gotten himself into, and took the contract from Misha. He glanced it over quickly, and was surprised to see it focused almost entirely on Misha's duties:

 

Handler is responsible for training Male in such a manner to allow him  
to avoid all unnecessary discipline and punishment. Handler accepts responsibility  
for Male's behavior and will accept punishment himself, should Handler fail  
to spare Male reasonable harm to himself. Handler will ensure Male's basic  
needs are met, including those for discipline, punishment, sexual  
pleasure, and affection.

 

"Sexual pleasure?" Jensen asked. He had a brief, unwelcomed vision of Misha unceremoniously working him to orgasm, like milking a cow for her own relief.

"If you need pleasure, and Rowan hasn't offered or shown herself willing, I'll speak to her on your behalf. I can't force her, of course, nor would I ever dream of it. But I can intercede appropriately. Of course, if she's absolutely unwilling to meet your needs, she'll hire you a Pleasure Slave." Misha had looked at Jensen then—had Jensen imagined it, or was he looking at his lips?—and a slight smile had played across his face. "I don't foresee that being a problem, however."

"No," Jensen said. "Of course, I would never dream of requiring her. . . " he'd trailed off, skimming over the rest of it. Was he imagining things, or had Misha just made a casual reference to Jensen's attractiveness?

 

Handler agrees to ascertain which forms of D&P are best suited and most  
beneficiary to male and to make every effort never to harm Male, but to  
teach, discipline, and bridle him, as appropriate. Handler retains right to all items marked  
with x below:

( ) Bullwhipping  
(x) Caning  
(x) Strapping (belt, leather straps)  
(x) Paddling (all materials, all sizes)  
(x) Spanking (bare-bottomed, hand, hairbrush, or other implement)  
( ) Public Discipline  
(x) Punishment dildos (size appropriate to Male and infraction)  
(x) Figging with ginger  
(x) All manner of anal discipline (beads, dildo's, etc)  
( ) Forced submission to anal penetration with Handler's penis  
( ) Enemas  
( ) Urination  
( ) Bondage  
( ) Fire play  
( ) Breath play  
(x) Rice kneeling  
(x) mouth washing, corner time, light swatting  
(x) work days  
(x) obedience training

 

"Anything seem like it might be an issue?" Misha said.

Jensen put the list down. "I can take a bullwhip," he said matter-of-factly. It was his duty to be honest. He didn't want to, but he could.

"I don't doubt it," Misha smiled. "Rowan doesn't want it for you."

"Is it on your list?"

Misha met his gaze calmly. "It is, but I've never taken it."

"I can take bondage too," Jensen said. "I can take anything on this list. I have the training for all of it." Joanna had been particularly fond of enemas. 

"We have no doubt about your ability to submit to, or to handle, anything that is required of you. Rowan felt very strongly that bondage, and the bullwhip, and publics, especially, weren't appropriate for you. She left me no leeway there."

Jensen didn't get it. He had only met Rowan two months ago, how did she already understand so much about him? He also couldn’t help but wonder what she had left him leeway with, which specific things Rowan would have allowed but Misha had decided against, or vice versa.

"Everything else here is very basic," Misha said. "You serve Rowan first, me second. Some paragraphs about picking up after yourself that I don't expect to be a problem. I'll take care of your laundry, change your sheets, clean your shower daily, of course—"

"You don't have to do that," Jensen said.

"It's my job, Jensen," Misha said. "I'm happy to do it. Now, I did want you to look closely at this paragraph here," he pointed.

The Male agrees to take on responsibility for carrying out any  
punishment or discipline of the Handler that the Sponsor is unwilling  
or unable to carry out herself.

"I'm confused," Jensen said. "Isn't it Rowan's job to see to you?"

"Rowan doesn't always play by the rules," Misha said carefully. "She has her own mind about things, and it's usually to my benefit, to be honest. She finds it difficult occasionally," Misha said simply. "And there are times when I feel like the strain of asking her to punish me is worse than whatever benefits she receives from knowing I've been punished. I'd like to know you could Handle me, if necessary."

"Ok," Jensen nodded. "Yeah, sure. I mean. I'm trained for that, too," he smiled sheepishly. He'd played dominant often enough in the Pleasure Houses. It had never been a problem, though he had spent more time being groomed to play submissive. "One more question. What's a work day?"

"Chores around the house and some light spanking. It usually lasts around six hours. We use them mostly for any trouble submitting, to help put you back into your place. Your dossier lists you as naturally dominant, so I’m guessing you must have times when you find submission difficult?"

Jensen nodded. "Yes, sir. I try very hard to ask for punishment, when I'm feeling rebellious." There were plenty of Sponsors who wouldn’t take on a natural dominant. Jensen had to remind himself that if that was going to halt the process, surely someone would have mentioned it by now. 

Misha smiled. "Well, that's very good. But Rowan and I make every effort to catch it and come to you before you have to come to us. Work days are a good exercise for that. Humiliating and frustrating, but they can often save you from a severe beating by knocking a little rebellion out of you before you face a session."

“Is it going to be a problem?” Jensen asked, afraid he’d be taken for impertinent but asking anyway. “Me being a dominant?”

Misha smiled gently. “Believe it or not, I’m a natural dominant too. So I’ll be able to Handle you just fine. With any other Sponsor, adding a second dominant would probably bring me some concern, but with Rowan?” Misha shrugged. “You’ll see.”

After Jensen had signed the contract—signing a breath of relief, it was official, he had a Sponsor, and a Handler, and a Household—Misha had stood up.

"All right, Jensen. I'm going to begin your training immediately since we only have three days. Today I intend to take you through all the basics. You won't receive any punishment today. Not for anything. I expect you to make mistakes, it's how you'll learn. So don't worry about that. Tomorrow, however, if you need correction, I will be using spankings and paddlings. And on the third day, mistakes will be punished with the belt. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Jensen answered. "Make all my mistakes today," he smiled.

Misha smiled back approvingly in return. "All right. Let's start in the kitchen. That's where the majority of your punishment sessions will take place."

"Yes, sir," Jensen said, and followed Misha out to the kitchen. 

"If you're ordered to take the position in this room, it means over the counter. Like this." Misha draped himself across the counter, hands behind his back, to demonstrate. "The other position is kneeling. Let me see your kneel."

Jensen gracefully dropped into the kneeling position Joanna had taught him, everything below the knee on the ground and the rest of him ramrod straight, hands at his sides. Misha nodded. "You have beautiful posture. Our kneel here is slightly different, though. Sit back on your heels," he said. Jensen did. "And clasp your arms behind your neck. Keep your eyes straight ahead, don't move them. Good. You won't be expected to hold this position for great lengths of time, but it's always the one you should assume. Then, when Rowan or I tell you—and ONLY when we tell you—you may relax your arms and fold them behind your back. Do that now." Jensen obeyed. "If we're going to have you kneeling in the corner for more than about ten minutes, we'll put you in this position. But you must trust us to put you in it and never adopt it yourself. Do you understand?" 

"Yes sir." And Jensen did.

He trusted them.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I rebelled for this?

"Her very first Male was abusive," Misha said simply. "It doesn't require much of you that I don't already expect you'll provide, but you should be aware of it. Especially if she does approach you intimately."

"What?" 

It was the third day of Jensen's training. Rowan would be home any minute and take Jensen through some exercises to see what he'd learned, and correct him if necessary. It was traditional for a Sponsor to do this wielding a riding crop, the Male naked, but Misha had told Jensen Ro likely wouldn't require this.

Misha swallowed, nodded. "Yes. I wish it wasn't true—Jensen, are you all right?'

Jensen was not all right. He was shaking with rage so strong he felt he had to punch something, or he would explode. Over the last three days he had undergone intense training, designed to increase his natural protectiveness for Rowan and teach him how to tend carefully to all of her needs. The natural regard he already held for her, as his co-star, had been honed and enhanced into near veneration of his Sponsor. And now Misha tells him this? The hell he was all right. "What do you mean, abusive?"

Misha sighed. "Please try to stay calm, if only for her sake." This had an effect on Jensen. He took several deep breaths. "Here. Have a drink." Misha handed him a glass of whisky. Jensen knocked it down in one gulp.

"Because she excelled in school and her own training, and because her mother died when she was young, Rowan was assigned as a Sponsor at a very young age."

It was only Misha's admonition that kept Jensen from exploding, hurling his glass against the wall. "How young?" he managed.

"Fifteen."

Jensen swore at length, pacing, like a predatory cat. He'd heard of things like this, only in the stories they happened in the outlands, the swamps of the former East Coast, backwater places in the South where some religious sects still had hold-outs and bred their women the moment they had their first periods. Women of Rowan’s status usually had undergone training from early childhood, but began Sponsor preparation at 16 and weren’t even allowed to take Males until they were 18. Most often, young Sponsors took their first Male while still living in the home of another older Sponsor who could guide them along the way and ensure proper Male behavior. It didn’t happen often, but every once in awhile you still heard a story about a Male beating a Sponsor--or worse--and attempting to flee. A 15 year old should never be left alone with a Male, even one of Rowan’s status and capabilities. 

"I thought things like that didn't happen any more--"

"They don't now. I don't think. Rowan just got caught up in the kinks of the new system when she was young, unfortunately."

Jensen was unbelievably frustrated but couldn't say much more. The women of the Council of Twelve were now in charge, and to criticize the system would be to criticize them. It seemed unforgivable that something like this could have happened to Rowan not all that long ago. But designing a new society was bound to have its wrinkles. He focused his rage on the abusive Male.

"What did he do to her?"

Misha sighed.

"Everything. He did everything you can imagine. He was twenty-one. They'd rushed him through training. He had no idea how to give her pleasure, not that he would have cared. He raped her. And he beat her. With a belt, and with worse." 

"The scars," Jensen said. He leaned forward on one hand against the counter, trying to catch his breath. He had seen them one day on set, when Ro had worn only her underwear for a scene. Make up had covered them for the camera, but the naked eye couldn't miss them. Scars down her back and on her thighs, enough that Jensen had done a double take. Etiquette had forbidden him from asking a Sponsor so personal a question as to the origins of such scars. But Jensen had wondered. 

"Yes," Misha said. "They were from him. He was terrible. He was cruel."

"How long was she with him?"

Misha sighed.

"He had been in my home for a week when he attacked me." Rowan said. Jensen whirled and stood at attention when she entered the room. She set her weekend bag on the ground. Took off her coat. "I blamed myself initially. He was my Male, I thought, and I was supposed to be able to Handle him. But when it happened again, I called the guard and had him taken to a Transition Center immediately. When I told them what he'd done, they shipped him off to the Pens. A year later I selected Misha."

Jensen pushed all his own feelings aside. He made himself strong for Rowan. "I'm sorry," he said. "That shouldn't have happened to you."

Rowan shrugged, looked down nervously. "It hasn't affected my abilities to be a good Sponsor."

"Of course it hasn't," Jensen said. He went to her, without thinking, and put his hands on both of sides of her face. "Sweetheart, of course it hasn't. I can tell. I know." Jensen realized that he was touching Rowan intimately, in a way he'd never touched her before. Just as he began to think maybe this was too forward of him, Rowan put her hands up around his and held them to her.

"It was a rough beginning. I was able to recover, and Misha was a huge part of that. I should have told you sooner, Jensen, I just—"

"No honey," Jensen said. Without thinking, he dropped down to his knees, wrapped his arms around her waist, and gazed up at her. Surprise flashed briefly in Rowan's eyes—until this very moment, Jensen had been merely her co-star, her friend, her confidant perhaps but never had they been physically intimate, or even physically affectionate beyond a playful touch on the arm. Now Jensen knelt before her in perfect Male submission, a three-day ginger beard on his face, gazing up at her, pressing his face close to her groin. "Rowan, you're doing so much for me. I mean, you will if you find me acceptable. I hope you'll find me acceptable. You don't owe me anything. And it doesn't matter." I was hurt too, he thought. "To me, you're perfect."

Rowan let out a laugh that was half nervous, half pleased, and wiped away a tear. She rocked her hips forward gently into Jensen, unaware that she was signaling strongly for oral sex, though Jensen knew exactly what it meant, and reached down, gave his scalp a good scratch. "Jensen, I have every reason to assume I will find you much more than acceptable." She smiled at the brief concern that showed on his face. "But all right. Let's put you through it anyway." She took a deep breath in and sighed. "Stand at attention."

"Yes ma'am," Jensen answered promptly, a nervous clench in his stomach. It was his first time obeying her in the Male-Sponsor role. Her large pupils showed she was clearly aroused, activating an instinct to brush one hand lightly against her ass and press a thumb into her clit, but he didn't. He reminded himself that he needed to prove himself not a capable Pleasure Slave, but an obedient and appropriate Male. This was the final step toward becoming a Male in the West Household. Jensen had signed his name to the contract, but Rowan wouldn't sign hers until after this test. Jensen smoothly rocked back onto his toes and then came up. Because he was so close to Rowan, he moved slowly, carefully, and kept his head lowered, not wanting to give off a single hint of dominance. Misha had warned him that while there were mistakes Rowan would tolerate, but any sort of display of dominance was not one of them. He folded his arms behind his back and waited for her to command him.

"Have you behaved yourself this weekend, Jensen?"

This wasn't part of any of the scripts Misha had gone over with him when they had rehearsed for this moment. Jensen swallowed. "I've tried to, ma'am."

"Misha?"

"He's been a very good boy. Very obedient."

Rowan didn't reply. She studied Jensen for a moment. It was a strange feeling. Rowan was tall and curvy, incredibly feminine. She stood before him in jeans and a black t-shirt, her hair in waves around her face. She wasn't, as far as he could tell, wearing any makeup except some gloss on her lips. She had dark freckles. She looked young. On set, it wasn't difficult to think of her as his kid sister. She played the part, teasing him and Jared mercilessly, giving them hell. She was sharp as tacks and acted tough as hell, except when she was acting vulnerable and soft, which made Dean protective, which made Jensen protective. And Dean and Kate had a complicated relationship; Kate always desperate for Dean's approval but too proud to ask for it. Dean proud of her as hell but too stubborn, or stupid, to show it. It was strange and sometimes terrifying to play a male who lived in the time before the change, a male who did't answer to a Sponsor. Sometimes Jensen felt BAD for Dean, that he didn't have anyone to go to to rein him in, subdue him, punish him and forgive him. Rowan was a hell of an actress, her scenes frequently bringing him to tears, making Dean mad as hell, taking his breath away. It was a strange situation, to be submitting himself before her now. He felt nervous. She reached out and touched his face.

"It's ok, Jenny," she said quietly. 

He nodded.

Now Rowan made her voice firm again, not harsh exactly, but not warm. "Did Misha teach you about figgs, Jensen?"

"Yes ma'am," Jensen said. He'd spent most of yesterday with one up his ass.

"I'd like to see you figged," she said. "Go make one."

"Yes, ma'am," Jensen said. He went to the refrigerator, got out the fresh ginger root. Then he took a knife, stood over the counter, and began to carve himself a plug. Luckily Rowan didn't lean over him and watch, or he was sure he would have trembled, slipped, screwed up. He carved the plug long and thick, with a thickening t-shaped base at the end like Misha had taught him. Quickly he swept the shavings into the garbage disposal, put the knife in the sink, and presented the figg to Rowan.

She picked it up from his palm. "Very good. Prepare yourself now. In position."

"Yes ma'am," Jensen said, something in him going warm and soft. Obediently he unbuckled his belt, slid down his jeans and boxers, and bent himself across the counter. It was his first time being naked for Rowan, but there was a first time with every Sponsor and the best thing was just to get it done and not think too much about it. In time, if Rowan accepted him, this would become second nature. Rowan had ordered him into position so he clasped his hands behind his back.

Rowan's hand on Jensen's bottom was surprising, unexpected, and incredibly arousing. He didn't worry too much about his sudden erection, Misha had told him he'd never, ever be punished for that as he had been at Joanna's, and he trusted Misha. It was a good thing, because Jensen didn't know exactly why, but a punishment session almost always left him turned on.

"Your position is perfect," she said. If she felt as nervous as Jensen did, her voice certainly wasn’t showing it. "Open please, Jensen."

He loved her for the 'please'. He could have wept. Misha looked on as Jensen reached his hands back to his cheeks and pulled his cheeks open, giving Rowan full access to his most intimate opening. He should have felt frightened, or embarrassingly exposed, but he didn't. He felt safe. A little embarrassed, like being gently put into place. But mostly safe.

"Here now," Rowan said, talking him through it, and then she slid the shaved ginger slowly into his ass, pausing slightly in increments and then sliding it in further, until Jensen had taken the full depth. Jensen held himself relaxed and breathed evenly through his nose. The pain from the ginger kicked in immediately. It was intimate and burning, but not so much. Not after the things he'd taken before. 

"How does that feel?" Rowan asked.

Again, not part of the script. "Uncomfortable, ma'am."

"Not painful?"

Jensen paused. "I guess I would call it very uncomfortable."

"Good boy. Is there anything I should know?" she asked Misha.

"He's been trained to submit to anal penetration, and took it frequently in his previous household," Misha said bluntly. "But he hasn't taken any in awhile. He'll need to be re-stretched if you want him to take anything substantial. He becomes very submissive under it, but as you can see . . . almost too much so."

Rowan was silent for a long moment. Jensen worried maybe she was disappointed in him. He wanted to offer to re-stretch himself right away, but he wasn’t allowed to speak unless he was spoken to right now. Then she said, "I'm sorry, Jensen. I didn't know. As far as anal discipline, the worst it ever gets is a dildo. Occasionally I have asked Misha to put himself on a punishment dildo when he's been very—very—defiant. It's an effective punishment, for Misha. With your background, I'll think very carefully before asking that of you. We'll discuss it together first, and I won't let you take anything you're not ready for. I won't ask you to submit to active penetration, which I think is just another word for rape. All right?"

"Thank you ma'am," Jensen said, barely able to speak. Joanna hadn't hesitated to sentence him to ac-pen, as the guys called it, leaving Jensen forced to bend over and take any cock in the house rough and up his ass until they guy came, and then to thank him for it. Being submitted to anal penetration did make him feel exceedingly surrendered, almost without a self, as if there were no Jensen at all. She must have noticed, that must be what Misha had pointed out. Rowan was so thoughtful, so concerned for his well-being. He feared he would burst into tears. 

"All right," Rowan said. "It's coming out, now." Jensen held himself relaxed as she slid the ginger from his ass and handily tossed it into the trash. "I'd like you to take a paddling now, Jensen. Just so we can address any issues now and save you the trouble of earning additional discipline during a real punishment. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

"I'll do anything for you," Jensen said throatily. Then he caught himself. "I mean—yes ma'am."

He couldn't see Rowan's face and wondered if she was angry at him for making a mistake already, going off the script, but then her hand rubbed the small of his back, briefly, and he didn't think she was too mad about it. 

"Go get the medium paddle please, Jensen."

He said yes ma'am and pulled up his pants, not bothering to fasten anything, just holding them with one hand at his waist. Jensen went to the cabinet in the study and retrieved the medium paddle, it was thick and round, wood. The small one was thin and oval, and the heavy paddle was a great wooden rectangular affair that made Jensen nervous just to look at it, knowing he’d encounter it sooner or later. He brought it back to Rowan, handing it to her and then resuming position again immediately, letting his pants drop to his ankles, holding his wrists at mid-back.

"For the sake of the exercise, let's pretend you're being punished for disobedience." Rowan paused for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was firm, like it would be during a punishment session.

"Do you understand why you're here, Jensen?"

"Because I disobeyed you, ma'am."

"That's right. And what do you need for your disobedience?"

"I need punishment, ma'am," Jensen said. "Please paddle me for my disobedience. Please give me the punishment I deserve."

"You're going to take twenty with the paddle, Jensen. Count them out to me."

"Thank you ma'am," Jensen said. There was a brief pause, and then the paddle slammed down across Jensen's bare ass, rocking him forward slightly against the counter. "One," Jensen said firmly, and returned himself to perfect position. He didn't have time to think about his placing before the paddle slammed into him again, sending pain searing through his skin and rocking his body forward again. He'd been strapped twice yesterday, briefly, but still, he was sore. "Two," he said. Rowan continued to paddle him, and Jensen continued to count them out in a firm voice, breathing through his nose. He took the third stroke, and the fourth and fifth perfectly, silently. Then the seventh stroke slammed into his red, burning buttocks, hard and painful, and Jensen made a small grunt of pain.

"Has that been his first sign with you?" Rowan asked Misha. "On the seventh?"

"Ninth to tenth, more like," Misha said. “He was strapped yesterday, so.”

Jensen panted. Had he done something wrong? Misha had told him that it was all right to show his pain. But he didn't want to disappoint Rowan.

Then she laid her hand on his back again. "You're doing beautifully, Jenny. Misha and I just need to learn your signals so we can be sure we're not punishing you too harshly, or not harshly enough. That's the only reason I'm taking you to twenty now, all right? So I can start to get a feeling for your signals. Ready now," she warned, and then she paddled him the eighth time. Jensen was able to hold himself silent through the eighth and ninth, but on the tenth he moaned again. Rowan was not going easy on him. 

"It's all right, Jenny," Misha said after he moaned. Rowan paddled him the eleventh time and Jensen's ass twitched, his hips began to writhe. He quivered trying to hold himself still, but Rowan said, "No honey. You can't help the writhing, don't worry about that," and slammed the paddle into his ass again. 

"Ah—twelve!" Jensen said, without meaning to, he clenched the muscles of his buttocks together. Rowan swatted him lightly, almost tenderly, with her hand.

"Don't clench, Jenny. You mustn't clench."

"Yes ma'am," he said, panting.

"You're doing very well, Jensen. You can finish this."

"Yes sir," Jensen said, and then counted out the thirteenth, fourteenth, and—Jesus!—fifteenth strokes, moaning and writhing under the pain.

"Stop clenching, sweetheart, or I'll have to give you extra," Rowan said, almost tenderly. Jensen forced himself to relax his muscles again, and took the sixteenth stroke. He began to cry.

"Very good, Jenny. Four more now," Rowan said, and then she dealt them out fast. Jensen grunted and moaned and said, "Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty." Then Rowan said, "It's done," and her hand was on his back, rubbing from his neck to his waist, soothing him while he panted and shook, his head to the countertop. "You did so well, sweetheart. You were so beautiful. You're showing me how strong you are, every time you take a punishment. Don't forget that."

"Yes ma'am," Jensen said. He wanted to ask for Misha but he didn't figure that would be smiled upon. Then he felt another presence at his side, and Misha's hand ran once across his scalp. 

"You did so well, Jensen," Misha said. "You made me proud."

"Thank you, sir," Jensen said. "I'm sorry about the clenching."

"It's all right," Rowan said. "It takes more than three days to unlearn a thing like that." They spent a few minutes murmuring over him and rubbing his back until Jensen's tears stopped and Rowan pulled back, touched her hand to the hot red skin of his bottom, and said "Up now." Jensen stood, pulled his pants back up, and took the paddle back to the cabinet, hanging it where it belonged. Now that the worst of the pain was over, Jensen felt light and loose, all his stress banished away. He returned to the kitchen and stood at attention before Rowan and Misha, hands behind his back, eyes straight ahead, and waited. Misha had his arm around Rowan and was rubbing her back, but when Jensen came in they pulled apart. Rowan smiled softly at him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm more than all right." He smiled softly.

"Do you understand your three duties?" she asked.

"To submit to you, to obey you, and to serve you," Jensen said. 

"And your privileges?"

"To reside with you, to care for you, and to pleasure you."

"Jensen Ackles," Rowan said. She seemed nervous. "Would you like to accept a place in our Household?"

"Yes," Jensen said. More than anything.

A grin broke across Rowan's face. "Then take yourself off punishment and come over here," she said. Jensen grinned back. He moved toward her quickly, suddenly overwhelmed, and swept her up into his arms, raising her above his head and spinning her once around. Rowan laughed as he set her down and threw his arms around Misha, pulling him in for a hug. They clapped each other on the back and then Rowan was opening champagne. She poured him a glass and as Jensen took it, he couldn't believe his good luck. Couldn't believe that not only did Rowan and Misha accept him, but wanted him, and were in fact celebrating as he became a part of their household. Overcome, he looped his arm around Rowan's neck and fiercely pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head. When at last she pulled away they all had tears in their eyes.

"To Jensen," Rowan said, and raised her glass.

 

***

Just six months after that promising beginning, it seemed like everything was falling apart.

Out of mercy, Misha had appeared in Jensen's room that morning with a belt and given him thirty. His hands clutching wildly at the sheets, hips grinding into the bed, Jensen had trembled and panted and thanked him, again and again. Then he'd stood, and taken the belt from Misha, and without speaking Misha had pulled down his pants and lowered himself across the bed and taken thirty from Jensen. Neither one of them had mentioned it to Rowan.

"Maybe we should just tell her," Jensen said, panting with pain, to Misha after it was over. "Just come clean and take the punishment."

"I can't do it," Misha said. "I'm sorry, Jensen. I know I should, but I just can't. This is all so new and fragile, and Rowan--I just think it would hurt her so much. I can't bear to hurt her. She's been so good to me all these years, and then the moment she brings in another male, I--I can't keep my hands off him? We have to control this ourselves. We'll do whatever it takes. We'll punish each other every day if we have to."

Now the time had come, the time to shoot the scene, the reason they'd strapped each other. The reason that, at lunch, Misha had jerked his chin in the air and Jensen had obeyed the silent command, followed him into his trailer where Misha had yanked Jensen's jeans down himself—angrily, as Misha had never been angry with Jensen before, anger that caused Jensen to start crying immediately—and slammed the paddle into his ass, over the welts from his strapping, thirty times hard, stuffing a clean shirt into Jensen's mouth when he realized Jensen was on the brink of screaming, because still Misha did not want Jensen humiliated, didn't want the others to know, didn't want to break his promise.

The understanding between them was unspoken and strong. They would get through this as quickly and as professionally as possible. They would do whatever it took. It was the last episode before winter hiatus. Tonight they would go back to their house, where everyone was invited over, and drink and eat and forget about all this depth of forbidden feeling that had developed between them.

They just had to get through this one scene. 

Jane called action and Misha snapped to it. "I rebelled for this?" he said, and threw his fake punch at Jensen. Jensen snapped his head around as if he'd been punched, though Misha made no contact. "So that you could surrender to them?"

"Cas, please!" Jensen said. Misha grabbed him and together they spun—the trick here was to let Jensen lead, like a dance, while making it appear that Misha was whirling him helplessly. Jensen spun and Misha followed. 

"I gave everything for you. And this is what you give me?"

"Cut," said Jane. "Let's do it a couple more times before we get make up in here to bloody up Jensen." 

"You ok?" Misha said.

Jensen patted his shoulder. "Yeah, man. Afraid I was gonna pull you over there."

"No, I was good," Misha said. Jensen was all business-as-usual. If the proximity to Misha had unnerved him the way proximity to Jensen had unnerved Misha, he didn't show it. 

"Let's go again," Jane said. And they did. On the second take, Misha was calm. On the third, he was feeling a little bothered. After the fourth, blessedly, Jane called "Hold it right there, guys." Misha was standing with his hands in Jensen's jacket, his face pressed close. Jensen was gazing back at him hard, both of them panting. "Kelly? We're ready for the blood."

Misha leaned back slightly to give Kelly space to squirt fake blood into Jensen's mouth. She carefully applied it to trickle down from the corner, then stepped out of their space. Jensen and Misha stayed in character, panting, gazing hotly into each other's eyes. Dean looked so broken. Castiel, of course, knew he was broken. A broken man driven to a last, desperate measure, trying to save Sammy, trying to save Kate, trying to save the world, willing to sacrifice himself as if he meant nothing, was nothing. It struck Cas that Dean was in terrible need of a good, long, spanking with plenty of tender cuddling afterwards. Dean gazed back at him, half begging for mercy, but half—god, Jensen's acting just smacked the wind out of him sometimes—half begging Cas to end it. To put him out of his misery. Castiel was furious with him. He wanted to beat him severely and then hold him afterwards while he cried. He couldn't help it. He bit his lip and brought his face in close proximity to Dean's. 

And Jensen—Jensen felt near the verge of tears. All night, Misha had been attending to him. Making sure he was ok, hurting him and then rubbing him afterwards, his back, his shoulder which had just been slammed into the wall. He couldn't help but think how similar it was to their household, the way Misha would give him the discipline he needed and then create a safe place for him to return to. 

"All right guys, let's go again from the wall there. When you're read."

"I gave everything for you," Castiel growled. "And this is what you gave me?"

Jensen didn't mean to do it. Something happened. His training took over. Misha was gazing at him, pressing his body into Jensen's, and when Cas growled at him, Jensen thrust his crotch into Misha's. Thrust his stiff, aching cock up against Misha's, where he could feel Misha's rigidness beneath his jeans. Jensen opened his mouth and let out a breathless moan—he wasn't himself, not only. He was Dean, mostly Dean right now and the moan voiced Dean's pain, a moan of deep pleasure, of longing—

"Say it again," Jane said.

"I gave everything for you," Castiel growled. "And this is what you gave me?" Dean could hear the longing in his voice. Castiel pulled his jacket forward and then slammed Dean into the wall again. They froze there for a moment, together, Castiel's pain hot in his eyes, Dean's shimmering back in the darkness. For one moment, they did nothing—

And then it was too much. All of it, the last six months, the nearness of the angel's body, the firmness in his groin. Dean brought his arms up, and grabbed Castiel by the trench coat—

"And this is what you gave me?"

Castiel didn't think. He growled the words out and then, without asking permission, he held Dean pinned below him, brought his hands up to Dean's face, to the stubble on his chin, his poor bleeding mouth--and kissed him. Slammed his lips into Deans, punishing him with the kiss, holding him up against the wall. Dean's lips were soft and full beneath his own, his eyebrows wrenched together in beautiful torment, and Castiel ground their lips together, holding Dean still, making him take it. He loved Dean. From the moment he'd touched the man, down in the depths of hell, he'd loved him.

Dean wrenched himself away. "Cas, what the hell?" he growled. For one awful moment they stood there in the darkness, panting, Dean's eyes confused and angry on Cas, Cas full of lust, unapologetic, meeting Dean's gaze. It was the worst longing Dean had ever known, forbidden but so strong it had taken over every part of him until there was nothing but this: Cas. Dean's lips were parted, but Cas forced himself to meet his gaze. Then, moving with Dean's deep aggression, his full, broad-shouldered, alpha male power, Dean brought his hands up fast, put them on Castiel's face—

\--pulled Cas toward him and kissed him. 

Dean pressed his lips hard against Castiel's, ground them together, kissing him fiercely, needily, like Dean was thirsty in the desert and Cas was the only thing that could ever satisfy. Kissed him like he was punishing him, kissed him almost brutally. Then something took over. Castiel went soft and Dean pushed him backwards, spinning him and slamming him into the facing wall, lips pressed together the whole time. With Cas now back to the wall and Dean standing over him, his hands in Cas's hair, his groin pressed possessively into Castiel's, their kiss took on a messy desperation. Dean thrust his tongue out and parted Castiel's lips with it, demanding, not requesting permission first. 

"Dean," Cas groaned helplessly.

"Shut up," Dean said, and he plunged his tongue into Castiel's mouth, claiming him. One hand gripped Castiel's hair and held his head back against the wall, but the other was up around his neck, thumbing gently at Cas's neck, his ear lobe. Castiel groaned again, a moan, a plea, begging Dean—to stop, to never stop, to take all of him, here and now. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him closer to him, a fierce hug, and Dean drew his hips back and thrust them, again, slamming his crotch into Castiel's possessively, as if claiming this territory. Mine. Again, like an animal, Dean slammed their groins together. Mine. The kiss lasted a moment, and then another. And then finally, finally, Dean drew his face back, his hands still in Cas's hair, on his face. Drew his face back and peered into his eyes, so much emotion shining. Love and fear and desperation. Save me, Cas. Please. Save me. Castiel reached up and stroked Dean's hair, the side of his face. This poor man. This beautiful, wretched man.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Cut," Jane said.

Jensen watched the blood drain from Misha's face. He was quivering and dizzy with desire, but the horror on Misha's face brought him back down, off his spinning high, the deep intoxication of Misha's lips on his. They were both panting. Some part of Jensen was distantly aware that he should release his grip on Misha, pretend that this was nothing—a joke, maybe—but the stronger part of him was driven to attend to Misha, to take care of his Handler, who took such tender care of him—and Misha looked unsteady. He looked like he might fall, if Jensen were not holding him up. He needed Jensen's touch, Jensen's grounding presence, and Jensen knew that and gave it to him. He held Misha's jacket firmly in his hands and refused to turn his gaze away.

"It's ok, Mish. It's ok."

Misha looked near tears. "It's not ok, Jensen."

"I'm going to make sure it is," Jensen growled loudly. "I'm not going to let anything hurt you or Rowan, Misha. I swear it."

Misha opened his mouth to say he was sorry, but Jensen, as if he knew what was coming, spoke first. "Don't," he whispered, his voice husky. "Please. Don't."

There was the crew to deal with. Misha couldn't bear it. Oh god, the crew. Everyone watching them, their shame, their betrayal of beautiful Rowan, of their Sponsor. Misha felt he would die from shame. He searched Jensen's face, pleading. He would ask for discipline. Those were the rules, that was what he knew to do. "Jensen," he said, breathless. "Please—"

"Shhh," Jensen said. And then—Misha could hardly believe it—Jensen winked.

Jensen turned his face to the crew, a mischievous grin wide on his lips, warm. He quirked one eyebrow impishly. "Mish and I just thought we'd try something new, for once." He said. "Just in case anyone was thinking of falling asleep," he said.

They cracked up. Misha couldn't believe it. He was half expecting someone, anyone, to descend upon him and take him out, escort him to the Pens, where he surely belonged, for this act of betrayal against his Sponsor. But the crew was chuckling with Jensen, who looked around at them, smiling. Finally he released his grip on Misha, but he kept himself close, offering his physical presence to comfort Misha, to give him strength.

Jensen kept all the doubts at bay. Misha needed him. He was going to take care of him. He looked over at Jane and shrugged.

"What do you think, buddy? Maybe once more with a bit less tongue—"

"I loved it," Jane said. She seemed shocked by her own words. "I wasn't expecting it, but, guys. It made so much sense. It was like. . . like it should have been written, and just wasn't. It just felt so right. Did it feel right to you guys?"

"Ah—" Jensen chuckled. "Now that you mention it, ma'am, it did." He glanced at Misha. "Breathe," he whispered. "Misha, I swear to god. I won't let anything happen to you. Breathe." Then he turned his grin back on, flashed it at the crew.

"Now I suppose you'll all be begging us to do it again—"

"No," Jane said. "No, that take was perfect. I loved it, guys. Misha. Jensen. You really pulled something out there. Really fantastic. It's going to look great."

"Look great?" Jensen said. "I didn't know better, I'd think you were going to air it."

"Of course I am!" Jane said. "It was just too good not to air. It makes so much sense. It's almost like you guys had been planning that all along. Had you been? Somebody call the writer's room. Tell 'em what just happened so they can start working it into scripts."

Misha stumbled forward into Jensen. Jensen caught him. 

"Keep smiling," he said tersely through a grin of his own. "I'll take you back to my trailer, man. Just keep smiling."

With Jensen's hand around his waist, Misha suddenly could.

 

"Oh my god," Misha said, throwing himself down on Jensen's sofa, slumping. "Oh my god, Jenny. What are we going to do."

For all the bravado Jensen had displayed on set, under fire, his inner landscape was rather different. He was still highly aroused, for one, and the helplessness on Misha's face seemed to be bringing something out in him. A protectiveness. A dominance.

Jensen wanted to tell Misha that it was ok, they had just been acting, but they both knew that wasn't true. It hadn't been scripted. Misha had kissed Jensen, and then Jensen had kissed him back.

"It's my fault," Misha said. "I'm so sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Jensen growled. "Misha. Just don't."

"Don't you understand? There are going to be consequences. Terrible consequences, Jensen—"

"And I'm going to take them," Jensen raised his voice, cutting Misha off. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. The consequences will fall on me. No matter what they are."

"But I kissed you—"

"I kissed you back. Longer. Harder. I mean, jeez, Mish. I practically forced you to do it in the first place." Thrusting their groins together the way he had. Like a whore. Jensen was disgusted with himself.

"We have to tell Rowan."

"I know we do." Jensen sighed. He sat down at the table across from Misha. "Let's just work through this together, ok? I'll take care of everything. We'll go home and I'll tell Rowan what happened."

"We betrayed our Sponsor," Misha said. "Yeah, it was for the scene, but you and I both know there was more to it than that. And there's no way Rowan isn't going to know, after she sees that, that we betrayed her in our hearts. She knows us both too well for that, she's too smart. We have to be punished."

"We will be," Jensen said. Punishment was the least of his worries.

"Jensen, we could be asked to leave. You must know that."

"No," Jensen said. He looked at Misha fiercely. "I could be asked to leave. Not you. I swear it, Misha, I'm not going to let that happen to you." As reality set in, Jensen knew only one thing: he had come into their house, and he had done this. And there was no way in hell he was going to allow Misha to be kicked out. Not for Misha's sake, or for Rowan's. Rowan needed him, and Misha wouldn't last one day in the Pens. Jensen would do anything. He didn't want to, desperately didn't want to leave the household, but he'd lay down and let every unclaimed male have his depraved way with him, before he'd let them have Misha.

"It was just as much my fault—"

"No it wasn't," Jensen said firmly. "Hell, Mish. I've been baiting you since the very beginning. I've been feeling things, and instead of asking for punishment—"

"You tried—"

"I should have tried harder. I let it go on, and you got pulled into it. No. You're a good Handler. And you're loyal--" here his voice began to break. How could something feel both so wonderful and so devastating? "--to Rowan. More loyal to her than I am. You're better for her, Misha. You're the one she deserves. You're going to stay and take care of her. Promise me you'll take care of her."

Misha's eyes filled with tears but Jensen forced himself not to look away. "I promise," he said. "Is there any way we could not tell her? Punish each other here? Severely? We still haven't acted on it, not really--"

Jensen had to close his eyes against the force of his desire. He wanted that, of course. More than anything, he wanted to stay with them. To make this go away. But it wasn't right. He could do nothing else for Rowan now, except what was right. "We have. You know we have. And she deserves to know, Mish. We owe it to her. We owe her that, at least."

Misha nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. Oh god, Jen. She's going to be hurt so badly. This is going to kill her."

Jensen swallowed hard, nodding. Misha was right, of course. The two of them had thrown everything off balance. They had destroyed everything the three of them had spent the last six months building. And now all Jensen could do was his best to protect Misha, protect Rowan, and try to make it right.

They'd agreed to make it through the party.

Show no fear, show no heaviness, show, certainly, none of the lust that was still hot in their veins, that each of them wished he could simply have beaten out of him but had tried, they'd both tried, and it hadn't worked. No. They would pour drinks and mingle with the crowd, look after Ro, put out food, and make it through this night. Then, just as they were about to go in—getting into character, except this time they would play just happy versions of themselves—Misha put his hand on Jensen's wrist.

"Jenny, if Rowan finds out. During the party, if she hears about it. . . I can't guarantee there won't be public punishment."

Jensen swallowed hard. He had considered this. "I know. I deserve whatever she gives me."

Misha's sympathy was almost too much to bear. "She'll be so angry, Jensen, and she'll be afraid. She's most unpredictable when she's afraid."

Jensen didn't understand. "Why would she be scared?"

Misha's eyes flew wide, as if he couldn't believe how Jensen had missed this. "Jensen. Think about what we've done. If anyone accuses us of illicit relations--for doing what we did, without the explicit permission of our Sponsor--we could be removed from our posts. Rowan would be disgraced, after how hard she's worked to earn the reputation she has. Our fuck up would be seen as a sign that she can't handle her own household. This doesn't just reflect on us, Jensen. This reflects on her. She could lose status for this."

"Oh Jesus," Jensen said. He grabbed onto Misha's shirt. "Oh god, I'm gonna be sick."


	9. Chapter 9

Jensen tried to push all thoughts from his mind, forcing himself to endure the party. He had wanted to get right with Rowan before it started, but there hadn't been time. Or maybe it was just that he couldn't bring himself to do it, couldn't bring himself to open his mouth and admit what was happening and watch this beautiful life he had been given crumble before his eyes. 

Punishing himself, he didn't allow himself to look at Misha. He tried to keep his eyes focused on Rowan, like penance. Forcing himself to witness his beautiful girl, who he loved, and who he had hurt, and who didn't know it yet. Rowan was across the room laughing with Gen and Brianna and Kim, and occasionally glancing his way. She wanted his presence, Jensen knew. Her eyes searching him out were her request for him to come to her side, stand with her and be a silent comfort, and for the first time ever, he found himself unable to see to her needs. He didn't know the punishment for that, if there was one. He never imagined he would find himself here, his Sponsor, his Rowan, asking such a small thing of him, and he unable to give it. But he couldn't bear it, to put his arm on her and pretend that everything was ok, pretend that he could offer her anything, any protection, when he had been disloyal.

In his torment, he slammed back too many drinks. A dangerous feeling was taking over, like coming undone. He drank more than was proper because what did it matter? Rowan was going to kick him out anyway. She'd have to, once she realized that he'd come into her home and torn everything apart like a thief in the night. But the drinks, and the guilt, it was all too much. He found himself stumbling out of the kitchen, around the corner toward the study, where Misha was sitting alone, in the dark. Misha rose quickly and caught him as Jensen slurred,

"Punish me, Misha. Please. Now. I can't, I can't—"

"I know," Misha said, and shut the door behind Jensen. The party murmured in waves from beyond. "I need it too. We'll punish each other and we won't tell her, so she can punish us as much as she needs."

"Yes," said Jensen, and their need for the pain, the strap on their skin, was suddenly urgent. They were both drunk, they both felt this urge. It had to happen.

"It's your fault," Misha said, his voice thick with drink, not himself, and Jensen crumbled. "I know," he cried. He turned toward the desk and Misha shoved him forward. Jensen landed hard, splaying against it. 

"Get your pants down, now," Misha said. "Give me your belt," and Jensen fumbled hurriedly at his buckle, slid his belt out, handed it to Misha who grabbed it violently.

"Please," Jensen gasped, his voice husky, shoving his jeans and boxers down, baring his ass for Misha to punish. "Please, Misha."

"You need this," Misha said.

"Yes."

"You need this, Jensen. You have to pay."

"Yes sir. Yes Misha, please," Jensen begged. Misha's hands suddenly grabbed his hips and yanked them backward, yanked Jensen so that his ass slammed into Misha's groin.

"You need to submit now, Jenny," Misha said and Jensen said that he did, he did submit. Then there was the crack of the belt on his skin, blistering, more painful than any punishment Misha had ever given him and Jensen moaned. Misha beat him with his own belt, again and again, seven times, eight, and Jensen moaned, and ground his hips hard against the edge of the desk, desperate, aching.

"Damnit, Jensen," Misha said. He sounded so pleading, so helpless.

"I'm sorry. Please," Jensen moaned and then he felt it, the tip of Misha's cock, hard and urgent between the folds of his buttocks.

Jensen went breathless. It was too exquisite to bear. Then he thrust his hips backward, again, grinding his bottom against Misha's stiff erection. "Please, Misha," he moaned. "Punish me with it. Punish me with your cock. I need it."

"You need it," Misha confirmed, and then he pushed himself deep into Jensen, so that they were one. He had lubricated somehow, Jensen didn't know how, and Misha was able to slam himself in to Jensen's asshole rather quickly, filling him. It was painful for Jensen but not terribly so, painful and wonderful at once. Jensen slammed his ass backwards, again, hungry for all of Misha, and felt the sting of his belt on his butt.

"Stop squirming like a slut and hold still, Jensen. Stop grinding yourself into the desk. Don't touch yourself. You're taking a punishment fucking. You need it up your ass, don't you? We wouldn't have to do this if you weren't so bad. Would we?"

"No, Misha," Jensen agreed and obeyed, did as he was told. He held himself still and allowed Misha to penetrate him, to plunge into him again and again, starting slowly and then working to a faster pace. Misha's thighs slapped against Jensen's ass and Jensen grunted and braced himself against the desk. Misha continued to strap Jensen as he fucked him, slamming his dick into Jensen's ass and then slamming the belt into his skin until Jensen was crying, and begging, please Misha, please.

"You're going to come without touching yourself."

"I can't—"

Smack! The belt across Jensen's ass. "You can and you will. Come, Jenny. Oh god," Misha shuddered, his own orgasm imminent, cresting. "Come." Misha strapped him again.

"Yes, Misha," Jensen said just as he came. Semen shot out of him and streamed down his thighs as Misha collapsed against his back, Jensen bracing them with his strong arms, both of them shuddering, panting, sweating. Jensen clenched his asshole as Misha released the last of his come into him, and Misha groaned as Jensen milked him for every last drop.

When it was over, just for a moment, they lingered. Jensen absorbed the scent of Misha, the feeling of his chest against his back, the press of their bodies, the fullness of his hole, his muscles pushing against it now, reflexively urging him out. Misha rubbed his hand over Jensen's ass, which was muscular and red and so very sore. It was this moment that ruined them.

There was a noise and then— "Oh my god—"

"What the hell—"

Before Jensen could move, stand up—cover himself—he heard the study door slam and then Rowan's voice, frantic and pleading and nearly sending him to his knees.

"Jared--Jared wait. Don't--I'll get Gen, please just let me--you don't need to report this, please. I'll ask Gen to not have you report it--I won't ask you to disobey Gen, but I think when she understands--"

Jensen froze, suddenly cold all over. Jared had seen. Not just Rowan, but Jared as well, and Rowan was begging him not to tell anyone. Her first concern, after catching them, was their safety. Not her own pain, but their safety. She was protecting them, or trying to. Misha drew his cock out of Jensen too fast, and Jensen grunted. He turned quickly, hastily pulling up his jeans. He was red all over, humiliated, nauseous. Rowan had her hands on Jared's biceps and was gazing up at him, her eyes watering, terror on her face. She was nearly hysterical and Jensen felt weak in the knees. He had to brace himself against the desk.

"Ro—RO," Jared said, raising his voice over her pleas. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't tell anyone. No one's going to know. Ok?" Misha move toward Rowan, his instinct to comfort her, but Jared thrust a hand out at him. "Don't move," he barked harshly. "Don't touch her," and then Rowan collapsed against Jared's chest and he folded her into his arms.

"I promise, Rowan. I promise. I won't tell anybody."

Jensen watched them, sickness in his stomach, terrible dread rushing in waves across his body. Misha bent to pull his own pants back on and Jared said "I told you not to move." Misha froze. Rowan laid her head against Jared's chest for one long moment and then—this may have been the worst part yet—she took a deep breath and made herself hard and pulled away.

"Thank you, Jared. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Jared said, letting her go. "Do you want me to get Gen?"

Rowan swallowed hard, squaring herself at Misha and Jensen. Jensen wanted to throw himself on the ground and sob. He couldn't take it another minute.

"Ro, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—" tears began to fall.

"Don't speak," Rowan said sharply. "Don't cry." Jensen obeyed with valiant effort. Then Rowan answered Jared. "Yes, please go get Gen. I'm not going to send you out of here with anything to hide from your Sponsor."

Rowan didn't speak to them, didn't look at them, while they waited for Gen. Jensen thought his humiliation was total and complete, but no, he was wrong--impossibly, it increased even more when Gen walked through the door with Jared, concern on her face turning to shock. 

"What have they done?" she said to Rowan.

"Jared and I found them like this. From the way I reacted, I'm sure Jared has realized that they didn't have my permission to do this." Rowan glanced at Jared, who nodded solemnly. "Can we keep this between those of us in this room?"

"Of course," Gen said softly, sympathetically to Rowan. "Jared, you won't mention this to anyone, is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am," Jared said. 

Gen reached out and rubbed Rowan's arm. "Is there anything I can do?"

Rowan shook her head. "I guess just go back to the party and pretend like everything is normal. I'll need some time alone to see to my Males." The way she bit out the words made Jensen tremble—not in fear of the terrible punishment he knew was coming, but with fear that he had broken something that couldn't be fixed. He felt Jared's gaze on him, disapproving, disappointed. 

"Okay," Gen said, casting a disapproving glance at Jensen and Misha. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Ro. I'll be here if you need me. Don't worry. We won't let it get out. Come on, Jared."

Jared turned to leave. Then he turned back to them. "I thought you were better than this, Jensen," he said. 

And then they were alone.

It took Rowan long minutes to pull herself together. Jensen knew this, and it killed him. He waited with his hands behind his back and his head bowed, the only thing he could do. Finally she said, "On your knees," and her voice was strong.

They both dropped immediately, obediently. Jensen would do anything she asked, anything. He would go out into the center of the crowd in their living room, go down on all fours on the coffee table, and take anything anyone was willing to give him, if she wanted it. He wasn't afraid of that. He was afraid that there would be nothing, nothing he could do to make this better.

"Misha," She said. And then she began to cry, huge tears down her cheeks. "How could you?" she said. "How could you?"

"I'm so sorry—"

"Stop it," she said. "You lied to me. I explicitly asked you if there was anything I needed to know about, Misha, didn't I? I live and work with both of you, do you think I'm stupid? You told me there was nothing to be concerned about and I thought you were handling it. That's your job, isn't it? As our Handler?"

"Yes ma'am," Misha said quietly, miserably. 

"I mean Jesus, why didn't you boys just tell me? Do you think I'm so cruel I would have--what? Punished you for LIKING each other?"

Misha's voice was barely a whisper. "Because we didn't want—"

"Look at me, Goddamnit. The least you can do is look at me when you speak."

Misha raised his gaze. Jensen kept his on the ground. "Because we didn't want to hurt you," Misha said. 

"But you didn't think this might hurt me? My own two males, going behind my back and betraying me?" Finally Rowan started to cry. Jensen couldn't help it, everything in him screamed for him to help his Sponsor and he started to stand, to go to her, to help her—

"Don't you dare, Jensen," Rowan said, furious. "Don't you dare." She wiped her eyes, trying to get a hold of herself. "You know what I've been through, Jensen? You remember what I told you?"

"Yes ma'am," Jensen whispered, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "You were hurt. Your Male hurt you." Jensen started to heave. It was too much. "I'm gonna be sick," he said.

"Go," Rowan said bitterly. Jensen hurried to the bathroom off the study and heaved into the toilet. When it was done, he returned and put himself back into position.

"Was that you just realizing exactly how badly you've hurt me?" Rowan said.

"Yes, ma'am," Jensen said. He was shaking with the effort not to cry.

"I mean it's not just the two of you. Clearly I have made some huge mistakes. I trusted you two, for one thing."

This wounded Jensen and Misha so deeply that they flinched. "None of this is your fault, Rowan," Jensen whispered. His voice came out ragged and raw. 

"And Misha-is this why you wanted another male in the household? Was I not enough? Sexually?"

"Oh my god," Misha said, utterly devastated that she could believe this. "Rowan no--no. I just wanted everything to run well and I was so afraid--

"I hadn't slept with Jensen yet and I hadn't asked him to pleasure you because I was trying to give him time," she said, somewhere between furious and broken with hurt. "He clearly didn't want to be treated like a Pleasure Slave--at least, I thought he didn't. I thought he needed time to recover from Banks household. If you two had told me--if you had just told me--I mean, do you think I didn't know you'd be attracted to Jensen? Any person I bring into this house is going to be attracted to Jensen. Fuck."

Shame twisted Jensen's stomach, his looks suddenly a curse, something that has brought pain to his household, to the people he loved, and he felt like what Joanna had called him. A whore.

On the verge of tears, clearly, Rowan stopped speaking to gather herself. She took a deep breath. "I cannot even begin to deal with this right now. There's too much to process, and I have a house full of our coworkers. Right now, you are going to pull up your pants and return to the party, and pretend like everything is fine. You are going to give the fucking performances of your life, do you hear me? Nobody can know what just happened here. Especially after what happened on set today. Did you think I hadn't heard about that?" she said, when Jensen jerked his head up, his eyes wild with panic. "It's fine on it's own, but if anyone knew how disobedient you two have been, or that my two Males both sexually betrayed me? Do you know how much my status could drop, for a sexual betrayal? You think they're going to let someone who isn't a Level Seven keep two naturally dominant males in her household?"

"Oh my god--Rowan, I'm sorry, I'm so--" Jensen begins. In his shameful and delirious obsession with Misha, he hadn't even thought about what Rowan had to lose--her high status, and how that rode on her ability to command her males.

"You're actors. Go out there and act, dammit. And when the party is over? Take position in the kitchen and wait for me to beat the ever-loving shit out of you. Wait for days, if that's what it takes. Wait."


	10. Chapter 10

Rowan had been until the early hours of the morning. Normally after a party people would crash at her house, falling asleep on couches and in chairs, some making their way up to the guest bedrooms, most finding their way into the calm room, as she called it--a room with windows on all sides overlooking the forest, filled with nothing but enormous pillows and blankets in whites and soft grays, and a fireplace. But not this time. Thank goodness for Gen, who had called a car service and had enough town cars sent over to make sure everyone got a ride safely home. It had been late when they'd finally seen the last guest out the door, and then Gen had left herself, hugging Rowan and making sure she was all right on her own. Rowan had insisted Gen and Jared head home. She needed to be alone, she needed to think.

She had made mistakes. That was clear to her. Hoping to allow a relationship between Misha and Jensen to develop naturally, she hadn't provided enough guidance, and the relationship had indeed developed, spiraling out of her control. There was a part of her that wanted to go down to her boys, bent obediently over the counter to wait out the night, and embrace them and tell them to forget about it, pretend it never happened, and move on. But as the booze wore off and she lay away in the dark, reality creeping in, she knew that would never do. Misha and Jensen were sworn to obey her, and her end of that bargain was to be worthy of their obedience. Not all Sponsors saw it that way, but Rowan did. Plenty of Sponsors just assumed the obedience of males was their birthright, but Rowan saw it as a privilege and a duty. And to be worthy of their obedience, the boys needed to know that she could take them in hand. That she could be relied upon to care for them and to punish them when they needed it. A Male who wasn't punished when he deserved it slowly lost trust in his Sponsor--and eventually trust in himself.

They also needed to know that they had hurt her, and they needed to see the consequences of that. No, they would have to be punished. That is, if they even wanted to stay.

***

 

Every muscle in Jensen's body ached, screamed for relief, but he would hold himself there, damnit, as he had been told. He would do this small obedience for his Sponsor, as it may be the last thing he could ever do for her. Yet despite his determination, Jensen began to sway. His arms began to droop. The rice had been digging into the skin of his knees for three hours and it was too much, it was too much—

"Jensen," Misha's voice cut through the pain, and Jensen straightened. Misha was there with him, behind him. Jensen couldn't see him, and they weren't allowed to speak, but every once in a while, when Jensen would begin to droop, Misha's voice would sound, a firm reminder, encouraging and commanding him to command himself, and it saved Jensen. They'd spent the night bent over in position at the counter. That had been difficult enough, long hours without sleep or movement, spinning drunkenness turning into a pounding hangover, just Jensen and the memories of what he'd done, the knowledge of how he'd hurt her. Then at six am, Rowan had come, allowed them to use the bathroom, given them each a glass of water, and put them directly on the rice. Jensen knew Misha had once lasted four hours on the rice. He thought he was going to faint.

But Misha was behind him, Misha was watching him and helping him and had no one to help him in return. Jensen would do this for Misha. He pushed all his fears about the punishment that this was surely leading up to out of his mind. He knew he had to focus on enduring this moment, and above all on obeying Rowan and Misha, to get through this.

It was difficult, though. Not to think about the repercussions for what they'd done. A Male's first job was to meet the needs of and obey his Sponsor, both duties at which Jensen and Misha had failed miserably. After what Rowan had said last night, it seemed unlikely that she was going to send them to the Pens, but time had passed between then and now, and Jensen didn't want to bet on anything. It was possible he'd be returned to the Pleasure Houses, though, and that Misha would be sent to a holding center where he would wait to be placed in another Household. Rowan would be within her rights to do that.

Naggled with worry, it seemed like eternity but was actually only about thirty minutes until they both heard Rowan enter the kitchen. Jensen tried to command himself. She might leave them here for hours yet. They deserved it.

But she didn't. "Up," she said. Her voice wasn't harsh, but nor did it contain the tenderness with which she often punished them. Jensen and Misha obeyed, muscles burning, rice falling from their knees. "Get this cleaned up. Get dressed. Go to the bathroom and get a drink if you need to. You have five minutes."

With "yes ma'am's", Misha immediately pulled up his pants and grabbed a broom, began to sweep the rice. "Go on," he said quietly to Jensen, and since there was nothing else to do, Jensen went to the bathroom and drank a glass of water, figuring he'd better fortify himself in any way he was allowed. Although he didn't think Rowan would continue to punish him if he passed out, it was within her rights.

In under five minutes, Jensen and Misha were both standing before Rowan at attention, with their hands behind their backs and their feet shoulder-width apart. Jensen began to make himself hard. He couldn't cry here, or show his distress and burden Rowan. He needed to stay stoic and accept whatever came.

"I've been up most of the night thinking about you two," Rowan said. "And it comes down to this: if you want me to release you both, I will."

Jensen's eyes jerked up to her face. She was trying to be strong, he realized with dismay. She was telling them that if they wanted to go make a life without her, somehow, she would let them attempt it. "No," he blurted. "No, ma'am. I don't want to leave. I would never think of it." Abandoning Rowan was unthinkable. It had never crossed his mind.

Rowan swallowed thickly. She was clearly on the verge of tears. "I don't want you here simply because it's your duty. Because you signed a contract. I'd place you in another house, together. You must know I'd do at least that for you. '

Misha's voice was rough, Jensen thought he sounded more like Castiel than Misha, when he said, "You have been my beloved mistress for 10 years, Rowan. I have loved you all that time. We could never leave because we love you. We made a terrible mistake. That doesn't change the fact that we love you. We'd do anything for you. I never want to leave you. I hope I never have to, as long as I live."

"I love you with everything I have, Ro," Jensen said. "I'd give anything to take back the fact that I made you doubt that." It was true. He did love Rowan. He just loved Misha too. But to protect both of them, to make sure both Misha and Rowan were safe, he'd have to pretend he didn't. And he would do that. He'd do anything to protect them both. They were his, and he swore to himself that from that moment on, he'd never do anything to hurt Misha or jeopardize Rowan again.

"You both want to stay then?" 

Jensen knew she needed to hear it again. She might need to hear it every day, from now on. "With everything in me, I want to stay."

"I never want to leave you," Misha said. “Please. Don’t make me go.”

Rowan nodded. Jensen watched her fortify herself against what she had to do—what his actions had forced her to do. "All right. Then you need to be punished."

"Yes ma'am."

"Yes ma'am." 

There was relief in both their voices. 

"But I can't do it."

Misha looked at her sharply. Rowan shook her head. "I can't. What happened between you two. . . this thing that's happened. It's too much. I can't punish you for wanting each other. I won't. You need punishment for the way you went about it, for betraying me, for disobeying me, for putting us all in danger, but I won't give it to you. I won't have you resenting me for punishing you for actions I don't think you really could have stopped."

"We would never resent you," Jensen said. "It's punishment I earned, Rowan. I'd never blame you for that."

"I know you don't think you would," she said. Her eyes were so sad. "But I'm not willing to risk it. I'm going to leave the house for three days. In that time, I want you to punish each other thoroughly. This is something I need you to do, and you will do it. Punish each other, give each other exactly what you need, and we'll talk about it when I get back. While I'm gone," she said, and her voice went hard, "there is to be absolutely no sexual contact between you two. If there is, you'll tell me. And you'll be asked to leave."

"Yes ma'am," Misha answered. 

"I don't want you touching yourselves either."

"Yes ma'am," they replied.

"Good," Rowan said. She looked at Misha. "I'm counting on you to run this, to make sure you both do it properly. While you're punishing Jensen, don't think about your part in any of it. Focus on what he did, so he can atone. And Jensen, when it's your turn to punish Misha, you'll do the same."

"Yes ma'am," Jensen said. He began to tremble, with fear and relief. He couldn't believe she was willing to forgive them for this. Yet he knew the punishment he was facing was going to be harsh. Rowan saw it all, of course--the trembling of his body, the twisting of his stomach, his muscles suddenly going weak. He was going to cry. He might faint.

"Misha, see to him. He's your responsibility now. You're his Handler. Handle him."

"Yes ma'am," Misha said. "Jensen, take third position."

"Yes sir," Jensen said, going to the floor gratefully, onto his knees with his forehead kissing the ground. 

Without a goodbye, Rowan walked out the door, and was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

After half an hour's break to rest his muscles, Misha had ordered Jensen back into submissive position over the counter, then disappeared into the house, presumably preparing himself for the task that lay ahead. As Jensen waited, he spun his leather bracelet with his left hand. Rowan had given it to him at the three month mark of his time in her household, a traditional present. He was so grateful for the physical reminder of the pledge he'd made, his duties, his promise. He was afraid. 

"Stand up, Jensen."

Misha's voice snapped him to attention. Any question of whether Misha would be able to pull himself together enough to administer a proper punishment were gone. The look in his eyes frightened Jensen further. He was harsh, cold. It was devastating. He's doing it so that he can give you what you need, Jensen told himself.

Jensen stood, with his arms behind his back and his eyes cast down, toward Misha's feet. He was supposed to meet Misha's eyes to show respect, but he couldn't, God help him. Silently he begged Misha to understand.

If Misha was going to punish him for not complying, he didn't say so yet. "I think we both need to agree that if one of us begins to feel tempted, we need to say so, and accept immediate punishment for it."

Jensen nodded. "Yes, Misha," he said.

"All right. We're going to punish each other as much as possible in these three days. I'm going to make it very painful for you, and you need to do the same for me. Today will be for beatings. You will beat me first-- severely, Jensen. I'll have three hours to rest, and then I will give you your strapping."

 

Jensen let out a sigh but didn't dare disobey. He knew what Misha was doing. Whoever was punished second would receive a lighter strapping, because the other person would be tired. But he wasn't about to argue with Misha right now, wasn't about to disobey a direct order, even if he wished Misha would punish him first, while Misha was still at full strength.

"Is it time to start, then?"

"Yes. Do you need a moment to prepare yourself?"

"No," said Jensen. Then he made his voice firm, to command Misha. "Get the strap and go upstairs. I'm going to beat you on the guest bed."

"Yes, sir," Misha replied, deeply submissive. 

"Strip and lie across the bed," said Jensen up in the guest bedroom. He didn't want beatings associated with any of their bedrooms. 

Misha's voice was firm as he answered yes sir and complied. Looking down at him, naked across the bed, Jensen gathered himself to do what he needed to do.

"Why are you being punished, Misha?"

There were a hundred things Misha had intended to say, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, "Because I almost ruined everything." When Jensen didn't answer right away, Misha continued. "I betrayed my Sponsor and my Second. I did the worst thing possible, to both of you. I betrayed the trust you both place in me. I betrayed my duties. I did the one thing I am forbidden above all others to do and I don't deserve either of you. I don't deserve to still be here. I need you to strap me harder and longer than I'm going to strap you. I plan to give you a severe beating, and you need to make this worse."

"No," Jensen said. "We made the same offense, and we'll pay the same price."

"I'm your Handler. I'm supposed to command you—"

"I came to you, Misha. I begged for it."

"And I fucked you and called it punishment—something that's forbidden in your contract. Forbidden by Rowan."

"I knew it wasn't punishment," Jensen said quietly. "Not really."

"That's not the point," said Misha. "The point is that I'm the Handler, I'm supposed to set the example, and I failed you. Please, Jensen. I warrant harsher punishment."

"No," Jensen said. "No more talking, now." Making a fast decision, he brought the belt down across Misha's ass. "Your punishment is starting and you need to submit now. You owe her that. You owe me that."

Misha drew in a deep breath, resigning himself, knowing he needed to submit himself to Jensen now. Jensen strapped him again.

"Are you ready to submit?"

"Yes sir," Misha said.

"Good," Jensen said, not harshly. Then he set down the strap and took up the hairbrush. He would warm Misha up a little, not too much. "Prepare yourself. You need a hard beating. Don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Misha said. With that, Jensen touched the wooden brush once to Misha's ass, and then began to spank, warming Misha's skin up. Misha kept his muscles and his body loose, his face turned away from Jensen. He made no sound and showed no sign of pain, which was good. After about twenty, Jensen landed a few strokes to Misha's thighs before putting the brush down and taking up the belt.

"Ready now. You're going to be punished thoroughly for your disobedience and insubordination."

"Thank you, sir. I need it. Please punish me severely."

Jensen began to beat Misha. He raised the strap and brought it down on Misha's ass, again, and again, and again, starting with a medium amount of force, finding a rhythm. After about twenty strokes Misha let out a little grunt. "Turn your face toward me," Jensen ordered, and Misha obeyed. Jensen wanted to be able to see him, his pain levels, his level of distress. Whether or not he was managing to keep himself calm. As he strapped him, Jensen focused on Rowan's face, the hurt he had caused her. He thought about his own guilt, how awful he felt. It was the only thing that would allow him to give Misha the level of punishment he needed.

Misha held out for a long time, much longer than usual, before showing signs of pain. After he let out a few little grunts, Jensen moved the strap down to Misha's thighs, increasing the force a bit. "Mmmmm!" groaned Misha, his fists beginning to clutch into the blankets.

"Listen to my voice," Jensen said. "You need this, don't you?"

"Yes sir--ahhh!--I need it."

"You can take it, can't you? Because you're her male, and because you need it."

"Yes sir. Thank you," Misha said.

"You're fighting it," Jensen said. "You need to submit into it." And then he took the strap to Misha's back, where the skin was still pale, without a warm up. Misha began to shake with what Jensen knew was the effort to hold back tears.

"Just give into it, Mish. You don't have to be silent. Lying here and taking this shows me how strong you are. It shows me you'll obey. You don't have to be silent," He repeated.

"Yes--sir," Misha panted, and then gasped in pain, still refusing to cry.

"I can handle seeing you cry," Jensen said. "Don't try to protect me right now." And he increased the force of the beating, raining the belt down across Misha's ass and thighs until finally Misha stopped clenching at the sheets, stopped stiffening all his muscles, and collapsed into the bed, a few tears silently rolling down his face.

"Very good. It's almost over," Jensen said, and strapped Misha as Misha made more groans of protests and gasps of pain.

"Thank you sir," he said. "Thank you, Jensen." Jensen used his full force to land the belt against the backs of Misha's thighs ten more times, Misha silently crying, and then, finally, Jensen said,

"It's done. Don't you dare ask for more."

It took Misha a moment to reply, his face buried in the bed covers, gasping. "Thank you, Jensen."

Jensen wanted to tell him it was over, that he was forgiven, but he knew they had two more days of punishments after this, so he only said, "You took it well." He was silent for a moment, allowing Misha's breath to start evening out, his tears to stop, his body to still from its quivering. He wanted to touch Misha and offer just that small amount of comfort, but it wasn't appropriate right now. He cleared his throat.

"Should I wait in position?"

"Not for three hours," Misha said. "Just for the last few minutes of it. In the kitchen."

"Okay," Jensen said. "I'll be right back." He went down to the kitchen and poured Misha a large glass of water, grabbed a protein bar, and took them upstairs to him. Misha was still lying facedown on the bed. He set the water and the bar on the nightstand. "Are you all right?"

"Don't worry about me, Jensen. I just need a few minutes to recover. You can leave me now."

"Okay," Jensen said, and left.

 

***

 

"Are you ready, Jensen?"

"Yes sir."

Jensen was waiting in position over the counter when Misha came down the stairs, looking fortified and determined. He'd managed to eat a little bit--a protein bar, a banana--and had made himself drink plenty of water, knowing he needed to fortify himself for what was to come. It had been a terrible three hours, really--usually the time before finding out they were going to take a severe beating and the time when the beating actually started was much shorter, a small mercy: less time to panic. He knew it hadn't been Misha's intention to torture him, but it had been rather torturous, anticipating for such a long stretch what was to come.

A brief look of pity flashed in Misha's eyes before he said, "Bring me the heavy strap."

Jensen obeyed, forcing himself to move automatically and not to think about the severe punishment he was about to take. He knew he needed it desperately, he wanted it, even. But that didn't make it any less terrifying. He was afraid Misha would withhold the comfort he usually offered. He prepared himself. He might have to get through this alone.

He returned to the kitchen with the strap and handed it to Misha.

"Strip from the waist down," Misha commanded.

"Yes, sir," Jensen said, and obeyed. He waited to be ordered upstairs. Beatings were usually given face down on a bed. He wasn't expected to be able to keep himself standing during a beating.

Misha's voice was terribly firm when he said, "Lie on your back across the table."

"-Yes, sir," Jensen said quickly, banishing the confusion from his voice. Shaking, he did as he was told. A blanket had been spread across the surface of the large dining table that Rowan had chosen so they could fit all their friends around it. Jensen stretched himself across it, focusing his eyes on the ceiling. He thought Misha intended to start on the front of his thighs. He didn't protectively tuck his penis between his legs, he'd wait for Misha's permission to do so. He trusted Misha not to hit him there.

"Misha?"

"What is it, Jensen?"

"I'm afraid."

Misha nodded. "You should be. " There was a long pause. Jensen forced himself to breathe through his nose, trying to slow his breathing and his heart-rate, which were both increasing. "But Jensen," Misha said. "I'm going to get you through this. It's going to be terrible, but not more than you can handle. Show me how strong you are. I'm going to get you through it."

"Yes, sir," Jensen said, and waited for the strap to begin to fall across his thighs.

"Bring your knees to your chest, Jensen. Feet up. Eyes on me."

Jensen's eyes went wild for one awful moment. "What--?"

He was cut off by the crack of the belt across his mid-thighs. "Now," Misha ordered. Jensen sucked air through his teeth at the shock and blurted, "Thank you, sir." Then he did as he was told. He raised his legs in the air, holding them behind the knees, and giving Misha full access to—everything. To his ass, and to the place Misha'd fucked him. He forced himself to hold his eyes on Misha's face. The temptation to look away was terrible. The position was the most humiliating Jensen had ever been asked to take, and considering his years in the Pleasure Houses, that was saying something.

"I've put you in this position because you need to be reminded that your place in this household is the submissive one. The very bottom."

"Yes, sir."

"You need practice obeying."

"Yes, Misha. Thank you."

"And you need to be humiliated. I'm sorry, but it's to help you learn. It's very effective for you, isn't it?"

Jensen nodded. "Yes. Thank you, sir."

Then Misha said quietly, “It’s hard on me too, Jensen. Seeing you like this. It’s punishment for me as well.”

Jensen opened his mouth, but there were no words to say.

"I'm going to beat you in this position until you can't hold it anymore. Then you'll turn over and I'll finish you off." Misha stepped forward and put his hands over Jensen's, supporting his legs. He kept his eyes locked on Jensen's. It was more than Jensen thought he could bear, so intimate. More intimate even than taking the fig. "You keep your eyes on me," Misha said, and then he began to spank Jensen's bare bottom with his hand. Jensen remained silent throughout the spanking. He was grateful for it. Misha was warming him up so that the belt wouldn't be unbearable, not right away anyway. Misha gazed into his eyes as he brought his hand down, again and again, across Jensen's ass, and Jensen forced himself to look back. Warmth spread across his cheeks. Something about the eye contact made Jensen want to cry, but he held it in.

After about thirty swats, Misha stopped and picked up the belt. Without a word, he raised it high and slammed it into Jensen's bottom. The pain was immediate and intense. Watching Jensen's face, Misha beat him with the belt again and again, taking up a rhythm, putting an intense amount of power behind his swings.

"This is the easy part," he said, finally. Jensen was desperate to hear his voice, was on the verge of risking extra strokes by crying out and asking for Misha to please, talk him through this. "You've been through this before. You've taken this before, haven't you? You can get through this, Jensen."

"Yes, Misha," Jensen said, looking into his Handler’s eyes. Misha continued talking to him, encouraging him as he strapped Jensen's ass. The blows began to rain down on his thighs, which Misha hadn't spanked and had no warm up. Jensen breathed deeply through the pain and anchored himself in Misha's eyes. He didn't count. His only duty was to get through this. 

The pain was getting intense. After a few minutes, Misha paused. "It's going to get bad now, Jensen. You need this." And he slammed the belt into Jensen's ass.

Jensen groaned. It was the first noise he'd made. His ass started to writhe, which, given his position and Misha's view of the fullness of him, was especially troubling.

"It's all right," Misha said, and strapped him again. "You need this." Misha strapped him, again and again. Jensen puffed air through his nose. Misha strapped him. "Mmmm!" Jensen ground out from his throat.

"Take it, Jensen. Listen to my voice and take this punishment."

"Yes sir," Jensen cried.

"You need this, don't you? You are a very poorly behaved Male, you disobeyed your Sponsor, and you need this. Don’t you, Jensen?”

"I—mmmm!—oh God, Misha, I need it---uhhhh—so bad. " Misha strapped him again. "Please. Please."

"Please what?" Misha said, not pausing in the strapping. His voice was dangerous. Jensen knew why. He could cry as much as he needed, but asking for it to end was a severe offense.

"Please give me more," Jensen said, gazing into his eyes. Smack! "Oh God, Mish." Smack! "Please."

"Why do you need this, Jensen?"

Jensen had to focus deeply to speak coherent words as the belt rained down on his ass, his thighs, again and again. "Because I hurt her, sir." Smack! "Because I disobeyed my orders." Smack! "Because I endangered all of us. Oh God, give me more, Misha."

Misha beat Jensen again, and again, and finally Jensen began to cry. He did as he'd been ordered, kept his eyes on Misha while tears streamed down his cheeks and he puffed air and moaned, his ass writhing under the punishment of the belt. 

As he'd promised, Misha talked Jensen through it, keeping up a murmur of gentle words and admonitions, until at last, Jensen was quivering all over with the attempt to hold himself in place—and then he collapsed.

"Oh God," he sobbed. Jensen prided himself on his ability to hold himself in place for a punishment. "Misha, I'm so sorry,"

"Ssshhh," Misha said, reaching out and rubbing Jensen's hot, punished ass with his hand. "It's all right. I knew you wouldn't last forever, remember? You're doing well, Jensen. But it's not over yet. You need more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Jensen nodded, gasping, trying to make his voice firm although he didn't see how he could possibly, possibly take any more.

"Roll over now, baby."

Misha helped Jensen settle on his stomach. "Take off your shirt. I’m going to beat your back as well."

"Yes sir," Jensen obeyed without question, completely obliterated by his punishment. He had known a severe beating would include strokes to his back, it had only been a matter of time. Misha helped him, pulling the shirt gently over Jensen's head and tossing it to the floor.

"Do you need a drink of water?"

Jensen shook his head. The thought of putting anything in his mouth or his stomach right now was a terrible one. 

"All right. It's about two-thirds over, Jensen. You can do this. You'll get through this."

Then Misha slammed the belt down between Jensen's shoulders and Jensen let out a groan that was nearly a scream. He dissolved into tears immediately. Misha beat him again, and again, and Jensen's whole body went limp and he surrendered to the beating completely, lying there unclenched and submissive and crying. "Very good," Misha said. "That's it, Jenny." And he beat him again and again, working the belt up to his shoulders and down to his thighs . Finally Misha took a deep breath. He steeled himself, and then he raised the belt in the air and with all his strength, brought it down across Jensen's ass and thighs ten times fast, ten times hard, and Jensen screamed out with each one until finally, after the tenth stroke, Misha put down the belt and said, "It's done. It's done, baby. It's over."

Jensen nodded, tried to answer, but he couldn't. Tears were pouring down his face and he was silent, breathless with pain. Misha put his hand on the back of Jensen's head and rubbed his head, his fingers in his hair, so gently. "Sshhhh, sweetheart," he said. "It's all over now. You took that so well, Jensen. I'm so proud of you. It's all right now. Just let it out," and Jensen did, continuing to sob for five minutes, ten, until finally Misha's hand on his scalp, his neck, began to have a soothing effect. He rested his head in his arms and took deep breaths, head turned to the side. Finally Misha crouched down to look into his eyes.

"That's my good boy, Jensen. You made a big mistake, but you paid the price. You took your punishment very well. I'll have to spank you or paddle you tomorrow but that's nothing, after this, is it?"

"No sir," Jensen breathed shakily.

"The worst is over. You did well." Misha paused, and then he added, "Rowan would be proud of you."

Jensen desperately hoped this was true. Misha rubbed his back for a few more minutes while Jensen tried to compose himself. Then suddenly he was very aware of Misha's proximity to him in his nakedness, his strong hand in his hair.

Jensen began to cry again. He couldn't help it. The pain was so bad, but he'd agreed and he knew what he needed.

"Misha."

"What is it, baby?"

"I'm feeling—I want to—I have an erection," he said finally, surrendering all dignity.

Misha breathed in air quickly and pulled away his hand. "I'm sorry. It's my fault, too."

The situation was too much. Crying, Jensen didn't answer, just held out his hands. He knew Misha didn't want to hurt him any further, but they couldn't just let this go. It was a terrible predicament. After a moment Misha hastily grabbed a short strap from the drawer and brought it down across Jensen's palms five times.

"Can you do me?" Misha said.

"No," Jensen answered truthfully. He had no strength.

Misha nodded, accepting. Then he held out his left hand and strapped it with his right, five times. Harder, Jensen suspected, than Misha had strapped him. How were they ever going to get through this without having to strap each other's palms every five minutes?

"I'd give anything not to have to do this," Misha said. "But I think I'm going to leave you alone for a few minutes, Jensen. I'm so sorry—"

"Go," Jensen said.

Regretfully, Misha did.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I live for your comments.

It was deep, deep autumn, and there was a definite chill in the air as Rowan drove beneath mostly bare trees and evergreens to Gen's house. A few golden and orange leaves still clung stubbornly to their branches beneath the gray sky. The day was windswept and sad, and Rowan felt low. 

Gen enveloped her in a hug the moment she opened the door to her home, where she lived not far from Rowan, tucked into the thick forests around Vancouver.

"Hey," Gen said. "How'd it go?"

Rowan shrugged. When her boys weren't around, she could drop her guard a little. "You know," she said.

Gen looked sympathetic. "Well, come on in," she said. "Jared made brunch. And mimosas."

"Has his cooking improved yet?" Rowan said, smiling ruefully as they rounded the corner into the kitchen--only to find Jared standing at the counter pouring a mimosa into a glass from a pitcher. "Oops," Rowan said. She hadn't expected him to be around. "I was talking about someone else, obviously."

Jared grinned. "Yeah right you were," he said. Rowan knew Gen had been having someone come to the house to give Jared cooking lessons, finally growing fed up with his burnt-to-a-crisp roasted chickens and rubbery cassoulets. Rowan had suggested Gen hire a cooking male but Gen was reluctant to do so unless he happened to be someone she was willing to bring into the household--a bit of an introvert, she wasn't comfortable with too many hired workers around the house. And she hadn't found the right match for a Second, yet. Rowan went to Jared and let him wrap her in a hug. He was her best friend's male--Gen and Rowan went way back, before Supernatural, having met in Sponsor training--but he was also her friend and something sort of like a brother to her. After releasing her from his huge arms he handed her a mimosa.

"It's improved a ton, actually," Gen said, smiling at Jared. Rowan looked at the spread he had put out. It did look impressive.

"Freaking ricotta pancakes," Jared said proudly. "With orange bourbon sauce. Eggs Benedict--so I bought the hollandaise, but still--orange, grapefruit and pomegranate salad, and hazelnut chocolate chip scones. Also bought."

"It does look amazing," Rowan said. A drink was exactly what she needed, her head and stomach still felt a little off from last night's festivities. "Thank you so much, Jay."

"Sure thing," Jared said. "I'll leave you two to it." With a quick kiss to Gen, he was off.

"You're going to pamper yourself and relax today," Gen said, handing Rowan a brimming plate and a mug of coffee. "You deserve it. I've got two masseuses coming in this afternoon and one of those home pedicure guys. Do you feel like an herbal wrap? I didn't want to schedule things too tight."

"It all sounds amazing," Rowan said, a little sadly. Gen noticed.

"Don't do that," Gen said. "You always do this. They're the ones that need punishment, not you. And you wouldn't be the amazing Sponsor you are if you didn't see that they get what they need."

Rowan sighed, taking a bite of the pancakes. They were actually quite good. "I mean, am I that good of a Sponsor though? If my males can screw up this royally?"

"ALL males will in times be in need of correction, as their nature requires it," Gen said, raising an eyebrow. She was quoting more or less verbatim from the Male's Code of Conduct. "There is no Sponsor out there who's never had to discipline her males, Ro. It's what this whole thing is about. So STOP giving yourself a hard time," she said, reaching across the counter and squeezing Rowan's hand. "You're amazing. Misha and Jensen had better realize how lucky they are to have you. It's always an adjustment, bringing in a new guy. You'll get it sorted out."

Rowan nodded, smiling weakly at her friend, trying to take her words to heart. She let out a big sigh, letting everything go. "An herbal wrap sounds amazing."

"And after? Old movies and that popcorn with the brown butter and rosemary?"

"God yes."

 

***

Jensen was startled out of a deep sleep by Misha entering the room forcefully. Acting off instinct, half dazed, Jensen threw the covers back and rolled over, presenting his ass to Misha for paddling. It was barely dawn, the sun just starting to rise. “Show me your bottom,” Misha said, even though Jensen was already half way there. 

“Yes sir,” he said, his voice husky and slurred with sleep. He pushed his face and shoulders into the mattress to lift his hips enough, sliding his boxer briefs down and baring his ass.

“The paddle,” Misha said simply, warning him, and then Misha began to paddle Jensen swiftly, yanking Jensen out of sleep and into alertness with the first stroke.

“Thank you sir,” He said, to stop himself from saying something else, something utterly disrespectful like ‘what the hell’ or ‘holy fuck’, both thoughts that flew through his mind. Misha had never done anything like this before, waking him with punishment. Usually Jensen was told to wait downstairs for a spanking—sometimes this early, yes, but never without warning. Misha seemed know that his bafflement would lead Jensen closer to rebellion than he wanted to be, and paddled him hard right off the bat, at full strength, no warm up. Within four strokes Jensen was groaning “mmmmm!” into the pillow beneath him.

“Youre fighting it,” Misha said. “I’m testing you to see how quickly you can surrender.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, taking a deep breath. “Mmmm!” the paddle smacked into his ass again, and again, and again, and his body quivered, telling him to get up, to roll over, to fight back—which he absolutely could not do, it would be treasonous. He tried to use the fast breathing technique he was trained to use to conquer rebellion during a punishment, but the strokes were coming so fast and furious he couldn’t find his rhythm. He wasn’t submitting—going lax, the way he should under a discipline. “Mish—“ he said, terrified he would commit a terrible breach.

“Open,” Misha said, and Jensen obeyed immediately, reaching back to spread his ass cheeks apart, giving Misha full access. Jensen felt the cool burn of a large piece of ginger sliding into his ass, burning fiercely, intimately. Filling him. The effect was immediate. Two relieved breaths and Jensen swam up into a submissive space, all his muscles going loose, collapsing fully into the bed. This was what plugs did to him, as Misha knew, of course. 

“Thank you sir,” he said, tears suddenly rushing to his eyes. Misha knew him so well, took such good care of him. How could he have put him in danger the way he did.

The paddling started back up immediately, every bit as painful, but this time Jensen was able to surrender himself to it, rather than bucking up against the mattress rebelliously. Misha paddled him hard and Jensen cried out a few times before he finally began to sob. “Thank you, sir.”

“You need this, don’t you Jensen.”

“Yes sir. Thank you for my punishment. Thank you for giving me what I need. I submit to you, sir.”

Jensen was such a talker during punishments. He couldn’t help it, Misha knew. “I know you do, baby,” Misha said, and paddled him again, and again, and again, over the deep purple welts and minor cuts Jensen had from his beating. 

“Mish?’

“What is it?’

“I’m aroused,” Jensen confessed pitifully. 

Misha drew in a deep breath. He knew Jensen felt he needed extra punishment, as Misha had given him for his arousal last night. But it hadn’t felt right at the time, and Misha had changed his mind. “You are often aroused during a punishment, Jensen. Rowan doesn’t want you punished for that. Ever. Quiet now,” he said, and continued paddling.  
When he re-opened a few wounds and little pricks of blood began to show on Jensen’s skin, Misha slowed the paddling down, watching Jensen carefully for signs of rebellion. Jensen gave none, lying there on the bed naked and fully submitted, his ass red as a rose. He knew he’d need to take the strap to the tops of Jensen’s thighs later today, but he wanted this to be the last punishment to his backside for the weekend. He paddled him a final five times, Jensen crying silently, fully submitted, and then said, “That’s it. This one is over.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jensen said through his tears.

“Leave the fig in. Go back to sleep if you want, or can. At nine I want you down in the kitchen for a little obedience training. This afternoon, you’ll discipline me.”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen said, and Misha rubbed his hand across the back of Jensen’s neck, once, briefly, and then left.

 

***

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay, even just for lunch?” Gen asked Rowan. 

“I’m sure,” Rowan said. “I’m desperate to get back to them, actually.” 

It was the morning of the second day of the three days of discipline Rowan had assigned her boys. Yesterday had been deeply relaxing, as Gen had promised. Somewhere along the way, between the massages and the pedicures, the mimosas and, later, the Old Fashioneds, Rowan had had a change of heart. It had to do, maybe, with Gen mentioning in an off-hand manner that Jared had confessed even he was attracted to Jensen, and Rowan realizing there was little that could be done about Jensen’s appeal, how she had done little to prepare Misha for that. It had to do, possibly, with the situation Rowan was watching with another Male placed with a Sponsor she knew from training, and didn’t trust, and the change she was considering brining to her household. Some light snow had started to fall in the later afternoon and, watching it with a hot tea in hand, Rowan had realized that while the boys needed to be disciplined, they also needed to be bonded, the three of them, as a household. She also realized it may have been the wrong move, waiting to approach Jensen sexually. Trying to respect his boundaries, she had unwittingly withheld from him the type of bonding Jensen, with his pleasure slave training, best understood. She needed to let him pleasure her. To let him feel the security and the satisfaction that would bring him.

“Well, take this,” Gen said, handing Rowan a latte Jared had made, after a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, a bit overcooked but not terrible. 

“Thanks,” Rowan said, and reached out to hug Gen. “Oh my god—I just realized it’s almost Thanksgiving and I haven’t—“

“You’re coming over here,” Gen said. “All three of you. I don’t know how Jensen’s cooking is, but we are definitely going to need Misha’s help in the kitchen.”

Rowan smiled. The thought of them all together at Thanksgiving, watching the boys cook, was so comforting. So they had been off to a rough start, maybe. Everything was going to be fine. She just needed to put a few things back to order.

*** 

At nine am, Jensen was in the kitchen making Misha breakfast. Misha had put him on obedience training, which wasn’t particularly difficult for Jensen—he liked having duties and didn’t mind carrying out his responsibilities, even if it meant spending the entire day doing it, in silence beyond a “yes sir” or a “no sir”. Misha was starting to realize, even this early, how easy this was on Jensen and was considering ways to make it more difficult. When he’d ordered Jensen downstairs to make him breakfast, Jensen had said “yes sir” smartly, relieved to have a job to do, a requirement that was so easily satisfied. When Jensen had gone to the counter to scramble eggs and heat tortillas for breakfast tacos, Misha had come up behind him, put his hand on Jensen’s shoulder, and spanked him about ten times. Jensen had borne it submissively, waiting, bent over, for Misha to do what he would. 

“Take off your jeans,” Misha had said. “And your shirt,” reducing Jensen to his underwear. This was slightly more uncomfortable territory for Jensen—more humiliating to him—but still Jensen had obeyed easily.

Misha was sipping his coffee and contemplating ways to make this more difficult on Jensen when he heard the front door open, startling him. Rowan wasn’t due back until tomorrow night, and yet it couldn’t have been anyone other than Rowan. She wouldn’t have sent someone over without telling them first. Acting out of a combination of mild panic and instinct, Misha immediately slid off his stool at the counter and took position. Following his lead, Jensen quickly switched off the stove, moved the pan off the hot burner, and did the same thing. Misha pressed his lips together and let out a frustrated sigh, worrying at how Rowan might take this scene—walking in expecting to find them punishing one another and instead finding Jensen in his freaking underwear, making Misha breakfast, for heaven’s sake.

Rowan entered the room, her face expressionless, taking in the sight. She set her keys and bag down on the counter, her eyes sweeping over the stove, Misha’s mug. Misha was dying to explain himself, but he’d wait until spoken to.

Luckily he didn’t have to wait long. “Misha,” she said, not harshly. “Report.”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said. “Jensen is on obedience training. He doesn’t mind it, it turns out, and I was just trying to think of ways to make it more difficult for him. Yesterday we beat each other severely with the strap. This morning I woke Jensen up with the paddle, and then placed him on OT. Jensen took five on the palms for arousal yesterday, and asked for it today, but I refused to give it to him—it was while he was being paddled, which is normal for him. I know this looks like a cozy scene you’ve walked into, but I had every intention—“

“That’s enough,” Rowan said, cutting him off. She went to Jensen, who kept his eyes obediently downturned. She touched him under the chin and brought his face up. His eyes met hers, he tried to apologize to her with them as he gazed at her. She ran her hand through his hair and then walked around to examine his backside, conveniently bare. 

“Oh boys,” she said, taking in the sight of Jensen’s bruised and welted back. She went down to her knees behind Jensen and gently pulled down his underwear, checking. “You’ve beaten each other bloody.”

“We needed it,” Misha said fiercely. “We were determined to give each other everything we deserved.”

“I can see that,” Rowan said. “You’ve done well. Stand up, both of you.”

Misha rocked to his feet, expecting further punishment. “Sit down,” Rowan said. They both sat at the counter, eyes on her expectantly.

“I went to Gen’s and I meant to spend the entire three days there. But all I could think of was you two. Which made me angry at first, because—you know. You both fucked up and that hurt me. But then all I could think about was how I contributed to it—and how this whole thing is basically just a series of misunderstandings and miscommunications. And I just couldn’t find it in me to be mad at you anymore. I knew you’d be punishing each other, and obviously I was right—you’ve done more than enough of that. And you know, with what happened . . . Although you are responsible for your own actions, now and always, I do feel that some degree of responsibility lies with me. For steps I could have taken, and didn’t.“ She took a deep breath. “So I’ve come home to end your discipline sessions and I have something to ask you both. Will you forgive me?”

“Rowan,” Jensen said, dismayed. “Please—“

“I forgive you,” Misha interrupted. Jensen looked at him aghast.

“What the hell are you talking about, Mish?”

“I don’t think she shares any of the blame either,” Misha said. “But if we don’t forgive her, she’ll—you know there is protocol out there for Sponsor discipline—“ Jensen flinched at the words. “She’ll seek it out.”

Jensen looked to Rowan for confirmation of this unbelievable fact. She kept her eyes down. He looked at Misha, who was looking at him meaningfully, pleading.

“I—fine. Whatever. I forgive you. My mistress,” he said fiercely, making it clear that he didn’t like it, that he was hers to command.

“Thank you,” Rowan said, blinking tears from her eyes. “Can we move on now? Please?”

“I—“ Misha opened his mouth reluctantly. “Jensen’s been paddled today, but I haven’t been.”

Rowan nodded. “And you need it to make you feel equal.”

“Yes,” Misha said.

“I’ll take care of you, then, sweetheart.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Misha said, tears forming in his own eyes, so grateful he was to be taken in hand by her now.

Rowan went to the couch and sat down. “Come across my lap, Misha,” she said. “Jensen, please bring the paddle Misha used on you.”

“Yes ma’am,’ Misha said huskily. He went to Rowan and unbuckled his jeans, letting them slide down to his ankles. Then he lowered himself across her lap with as much grace as possible. Jensen appeared with the paddle. Rowan took it from him.

“Sit on that end, where he can see you, darling,” Rowan said to Jensen, who obeyed with a rather emotive “Yes ma’am.”

Rowan took a deep breath, preparing herself for the half raw state she was sure she was about to find Misha’s ass in, and then pulled down his boxer briefs, Misha raising his hips to help her slide them off. Sure enough, the skin was purple and welted, though not as badly as Jensen’s.

“How many did you give Jensen?”

“I’m not sure. It was vigorous. About 75, I think.”

Rowan checked her reaction to this, although it wasn’t easy. 75 with the paddle immediately following a beating was severe, indeed, and more than she would have allowed. But if she showed any doubt, it would affect Misha’s ability to take the paddling he was about to take. She knew Misha, she knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take at least what Jensen had taken, if not more.

“All right,” she said. “Seventy-five. Then five more, because you’re the Handler, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Misha said with unmistakeable relief. 

“Jensen will count silently. Let me know at the twenty-fives.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, glad, again, to be given a job.

With that Rowan raised the paddle and began to spank Misha. She started out with a medium amount of force, warming him up, but transitioned quickly to a harder stroke after only five or so, guessing, from the look of Jensen’s bottom, that he hadn’t receieved much of a warm up either. Misha held himself completely surrendered and loose over Rowan’s lap, his head turned to the side, facing Jensen, who had angled his body so that while he couldn’t make eye contact with Mish, exactly, Misha would know he was there. 

“Very good, sweetheart,” she said after about ten, and then she began to paddle Misha very hard, with all her strength. Soon Misha grunted, then let out a little moan. “Very good, darling,” Rowan said again. “You’re taking what you need, now. After this it will all be over, won’t it?”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said. “Thank you.” Rowan could hear both the pain and the sincerity in his voice. It seemed to be taking too long, but Jensen finally said,  
“That’s twenty-five.”

“Thank you,” Rowan said, and kept paddling Misha. “You’ve been such a good handler to me, Misha. You two made a mistake, and that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Every male will make mistakes. Every male will at times require punishment.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Misha said, panting hard now. His ass began to write, grinding involuntarily into Rowan’s thighs. He was holding back, but she knew he was in a great deal of pain. She paddled him hard and he jerked, his body going tense.

“Surrender, Misha. Take Jensen’s hands,” she ordered, and Misha obeyed, reaching out for Jensen’s hands, squeezing them tightly.

Rowan then paddled him hard and fast until Jensen said “Fifty.”

Finally, Misha began to cry. He didn’t make any noise, but Rowan saw tears start to stream silently down his face.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” she said, and then she paddled him. Misha’s hips ground into her thighs. He let out little grunts and gasps. Rowan was paddling him hard. He started to bleed, a little bit, but she kept going, knowing he would not be satisfied with anything less than 80. Finally, Jensen squeezed Misha’s hands and said,  
“Seventy-five.”

“Count the last five to me, Misha,” Rowan said, and paddled him.

Smack! “Seventy-six.” Smack! “Seventy-seven.” Smack! “Mmmm!” Misha grunted. “Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine.” Another little cry. “Eighty.”

“It’s done,” Rowan said, and set down the paddle, immediately beginning to rub Misha’s bottom soothingly, her hand running all the way up and down his back. Tears came to her eyes, she blinked them back. “You’ve done so well. I’m so proud of you. Of you both,” she said, looking at Jensen. She hadn’t been here to talk Jensen through his version of this. “I’m so proud of both of you. It’s time for us to move on from this now, all right?”

Jensen nodded, gazing at her deeply.

“Thank you, Rowan,” said Misha. Rowan bent down and placed a gentle kiss on his hot, welted flesh. “Jensen, will you get me the kit?”

“Yep,” Jensen said, rising, and returning quickly with the little kit Rowan kept with painkillers and soothing oils and ointments. She took out the pain-relieving anesthetic spray. “Just a little spray, all right baby?”

“Okay,” Misha said, as Rowan sprayed the Dermoplast onto his backside. Then she stroked the skin of his neck and his lower legs, where he hadn’t been punished, lovingly, until his breathing evened out and he was able to calm down. She could tell by Jensen’s demeanor that Misha hadn’t broken him—hadn’t broken his spirit, his will, and she was glad for that. She hadn’t specified to Misha not to do that because to her it had been obvious, but from the look of things, they had felt the need to skirt pretty close to that edge. She looked at Jensen and smiled, noticing he was still in his underwear.

“Jensen,” she said. “The sight of you like that is a deep pleasure, don’t get me wrong, but you’re free to get dressed if you’d like to.”

Jensen looked at her with an expression so vulnerable it threw her off. He swallowed hard and she watched him speak carefully.

“It pleases you? To see me like this?”

“Oh sweetheart,” she said, letting her voice deepen into something close to a guttural moan. “It pleases me very much.”

Jensen smiled then, a flirtatious twinkle in his eyes, and Rowan saw that clearly her thoughts this morning had been right—the Male needed to be bedded, promptly. She needed to let him seduce her. Luckily, that would not be hard. 

Misha pushed up off her lap and sat next to her, gazing at her adoringly, the way he tended to, after a punishment. “Let’s just rest today, all right? And we’ll go out for dinner, so nobody needs to cook.” Then she pulled Misha toward her and kissed him. They were on hiatus, the holidays were approaching, and at last, things had been set right in their world.


	13. Chapter 13

On Saturday, Jensen tried but couldn't snap himself into the right attitude. It was stupid. Saturdays were always the day he and Misha ran errands, doing the grocery shopping, the dry cleaners, the bookstore, anything else Rowan needed done. He enjoyed it--enjoyed helping Rowan, being useful, enjoyed the time with Misha to talk about anything that was on his mind. But today all he could think about was this: it was Saturday, he was up early, and there was a soccer game at one he'd wanted to watch. Rowan's list today was long.

Unable to correct himself he finally surrendered. He went to Misha's room and knocked. The door pushed open. He could hear Misha in the shower. He went to the corner, dropped to his knees, and folded his hands behind his back. Waited.

It wasn't long before the bathroom door opened and Misha came to stand behind him. "What is it, Jensen?" his Handler said gently.

"I need an attitude adjustment, please, sir. My head isn't where I'd like it to be today."

"I see. Is this something I need to discuss with Rowan?"

It still shocked Jensen, sometimes. How well Misha treated him. "My instinct is to keep it from her, since this isn't usually a problem for me. If it became a consistent issue, then she'd need to know to correct me. But I'll trust your judgement, sir."

"I agree with you here," Misha said. "Of course I'll give you what you need, Jensen. Do you know what you require for an attitude adjustment?"

Jensen told the truth. "For a true shift, I need to be paddled until I cry, sir," he said.

"All right. I'm going to take care of you. Why don't you go bend over the end of my bed? Pants and underwear down."

"Yes sir," Jensen said. He turned in time to see Misha retreating, completely naked. In some ways, his Handler was the least inhibited person Jensen had ever known. While Misha went into his closet to put some clothes on, Jensen slid his jeans and boxer briefs down and bent over the foot of the bed. Misha's bed was high, waist-level, and it allowed Jensen to bend comfortably at the waist, lay his torso on Misha's clean-scented comforter, his feet just barely coming off the floor. There was something incredibly vulnerable about the feeling of his legs dangling off the ground. Misha didn't leave him waiting long. Jensen knew he had a few paddles and straps in his closet. He could have chosen to use a belt; Jensen didn't expect him to, but he wouldn't protest, of course. 

"All right," Misha said. He touched the paddle to Jensen's bottom. "I'm going to begin paddling you now, Jensen, to help you adjust your attitude. I expect this will work, but if it doesn't, we'll try something else. When I'm done with you, you'll feel better." He paused. "When you're ready, say 'please begin'."

Jensen moaned slightly and ground his face into the sheets. A wave of arousal crept across his groin and down to his thighs. Being forced to submit--orperhaps simply submitting himself--always left Jensen highly aroused. Misha knew by now, Jensen didn't have to fear shame or punishment. God, it was a humiliating thing. He'd bear it the best he could.

"Please begin."

The paddle whooshed, slammed down against his ass, and Jensen hissed. It wasn't like him to give so early in a punishment. 

"Get it together," Misha said.

"Yes sir," Jensen growled before taking the next swat, hard. It rocked his body forward on the bed. He breathed. It had been drilled into him during his training--taking a paddling, you breathed after every swat, until the pain became so bad that you needed to pant. He breathed, and Misha paddled him again--hard. Jensen exhaled hard through his lips. It seemed that Misha intended to bring him to tears quickly. Which made sense, they had a long day ahead. Misha paddled him again, and again, quickly, more quickly than usual, and on the 9th stroke Jensen moaned. On the 11th stroke he cried out. The paddle was falling hard and fast on his raw, naked ass. Misha usually paddled him a bit slower, more rhythmically and with frequent encouraging words and touches. Now he just punished Jensen, fast and hard. The 15th stroke came and Jensen moaned and began to pant. His hips thrust up reflexively. Rarely had anyone brought him to a writhe so soon.

"You're fighting it," Misha said, not harshly. "Surrender."

Then he paddled Jensen four times fast, and Jensen bit back a howl, and went limp. He had been holding himself rigid, now he collapsed into the bed, muscles lax, hips writhing and grinding his cock gently into the bed, stimulating him softly. Misha rained down a series of stunning blows--smack! smack! smack!--and Jensen gasped, and choked. Misha paddled him again, and again, and finally Jensen began to cry. He usually made it to 45, if not 50, before crying. He'd only made it to the low 20s this time, and it shocked him. "I'm sorry," he said, not sure what he was apologizing for. Misha didn't answer, just kept paddling, hard and relentless, while Jensen cried.

It went on for awhile after that. Jensen submitted himself to the blows, choking and moaning and crying out, tears streaming down his cheeks, while Misha paddled him. After around 40 swats, Misha's pace slowed. Jensen held himself still, shaking, tears in his eyes. He made it to 50, his ass screaming, when Misha said "I'm switching you to a hair brush now," and did, smacking Jensen's red, hot bottom, alternating the cheeks.

"Thank you," Jensen said through tears. "Thank you."

Misha kept it up with the hairbrush for awhile, longer than Jensen had expected, until Jensen realized he had gone completely lax, totally submitted, crying silently but not fighting the spanking at all. Finally Misha stopped, and smacked Jensen's bottom once with his bare hand, and then grabbed between the fold of Jensen's ass, testing. Jensen didn't react.

"Good," Misha said, pleased. All the fight was out of Jensen and he was totally submitted. "Very good, Jensen. I think that's enough now."

"Thank you, sir," Jensen said. Misha rubbed his back a moment before saying, "Up now," and Jensen rose, and went immediately to his knees.

"Your adjustment is over, honey," Misha said.

"I just wanted to say--I'm so thankful for the way you Handle me, sir."

Misha smiled down at him fondly. "And we're thankful for you, Jensen."

 

**

 

After his paddling, Jensen showered quickly and went downstairs where Misha was drinking a green juice with Rowan.

"Good morning," he said, and kissed her offered cheek. She had her hair up high and was wearing a white shirt, her clavicle and breasts poking through. Misha was wearing a gray v-neck that hugged his pecs and upper arms. It was all very pleasing and distracting to Jensen. Rowan and Misha smiled indulgently, as if reading that in his eyes. He lowered his gaze briefly, embarrassed, then let it flicker back up. At Joanna's he would have been shamed for what she called his 'hyper-sexuality', or simply 'over-fucked', but Rowan and Misha insisted it was something to be proud of, even. When he looked at them again they beamed, as if they knew the battle he had just overcome in his head.

He poured himself a coffee and then sat at the island with the two of them. They chatted for a few minutes, until finally Misha glanced at his watch and said that they'd better be heading out, what was on her list for them?

"Just a couple things," Rowan said, pushing a list his way. A couple books at the bookstore, the liquor store--"Get something for yourselves, too, unless you want to drink cake vodka"--and the groceries for the evening's meal and brunch the next day.

"Is that it?" Misha said. 

Rowan smiled. "I want you both home in time for the game at one."

Misha managed not to glance at Jensen, he only smiled and kissed Rowan goodbye.

 

The bookstore was crowded, it being a Saturday before Christmas. They were running ahead of schedule and Misha told Jensen that they could take a short break to browse.

While Misha skimmed the poetry section for new releases, Jensen went straight to the guitar tab section. He didn't know what he was doing there, he hadn't even touched a guitar since the incident with Joanna at the music store over a year ago. He was a bit nervous as he picked up a volume and began skimming. He was so absorbed that Misha was at his side again in what seemed like no time at all.

"We'd better get going if you want to see the kick-off." 

"Okay," Jensen said. He went to put down the book he was holding, but found it wouldn't leave his hand.

"Hey Mish," he said. "Do I have any of my allowance left over for this week?"

"Of course you do, Jensen," Misha said. "You never come close to using it up. I don't think you've even touched it in weeks."

"I feel better if I can contribute--not that Rowan needs it," he said suddenly. To even suggest that his Sponsor was not capable of providing for their needs was close to blasphemy. "I know she doesn't need my contribution--"

Misha raised a hand. "I know how you meant it," he said. "But Jensen, you should also feel free to spend your paychecks. They're yours, after all. Rowan has no need for them."

"My paychecks?" Jensen said, confused.

Misha chuckled. "Did we really not tell you? Rowan doesn't dole out an allowance, not if we're bringing in our own income. If we weren't then of course she would," He added quickly. "Don't ever think you have to work. I know you enjoy what you do, but if that changed, she'd provide for you happily."

Jensen was stunned. "But--I want to contribute to the household. As a gesture of appreciation. I know Rowan doesn't need it, I just want to--to be useful."

Smiling, Misha said, "Come here." Jensen followed him to one of the tables in the cafe for use by unescorted males. They were all wearing the silver crest on their shirts or jackets to show they were out with their Sponsor's permission. Of course their datapads were also broadcasting their permission to any and all of the nearby checkpoints, but the crests were a visual signal. Jensen was proud to wear the winged "W" of West household, with the silver feather pen shot through it, and the tiny drama and comedy masks beneath, to show Rowan's profession. Their tables weren't close to the windows, but even from here Jensen could see that outside it was starting to snow. He and Misha settled at the table. From his jacket pocket, Misha drew out a small notepad and pen. He wrote something on it.

"This is how much you get paid per episode we shoot." He slid the paper toward Jensen.

$6,000.

Jensen's eyebrows shot up. "But we shoot three episodes a month."

Misha nodded. 

"I had no idea I made that much. Wow. And Rowan lets me keep all of it?"

Misha took the paper back and wrote on it again.

"This is how much Rowan gets paid per episode."

Misha slid the paper back toward Jensen. Jensen nearly fell out of his seat. He looked at Misha. "Are you messing with me?"

Misha shook his head. Jensen looked back down. $750,000. Per episode. Jensen had no idea his Sponsor made that much. He knew of course that Rowan's estate was very lush and beautiful, their cars luxurious, and that he and Misha were well provided for. But he'd had no idea of the scope of it.

"I'm only showing you this to say that Rowan really doesn't need our help in this area. That doesn't even include the money she makes when she's writing. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated but I think it's best just to be grateful for her generosity."

"Of course," Jensen nodded. "Can I use my money to buy her a Christmas present?"

"Of course you can," Misha smiled. "Come on. Let's go buy your book."

At the register, there was a moment when the clerk announced the total and everyone just stood there. Jensen wondered if it was maybe too much, if it cost more than Misha had been expecting. "I don't have to-" he said, but then Misha was opening his wallet and waving his card over the small datapad at the salespoint. After the book was placed in a bag and they were headed out to the car, Misha leaned over to Jensen.

"Did you lose your credit card?"

"Oh," Jensen said, and fumbled for his wallet. "Sorry. I completely forgot about it. I've never used it before."

"You can use it anytime you want," Misha said. "You just wave it over the datapoint and touch the fingerprint reader. You can call the number on the back anytime to hear your balance. Though I doubt you'll need to, with your spending habits."

Misha seemed amused. But to Jensen it was a very important responsibility. He'd never had money of his own to spend before, ever. It was a privilege to be trusted in this manner, and Jensen wanted to prove himself worthy. Besides, there was nothing he needed to buy. Rowan provided him with all he needed and more, and it wasn't as if he could plan a trip to Cancun, or whatever. Joanna had once taken Christian and Steve on a trip to Cancun. Jensen had been left behind after a string of nights on which he'd displeased Joanna, time after time, in the bedroom. Trying to pleasure her when she wanted him to fuck her, pounding, and once, unforgivably, climaxing when she had been trying to torture him, keep him on the brink for as long as possible, making him beg for her permission. His cheeks burned with shame at the memory. His skills had seemed so promising during his training, but then he'd arrived at Joanna's house and had rarely, if ever, managed to succeed in knowing what she wanted and delivering it to her.

"Jensen," Misha said, and Jensen snapped himself out of his reverie. 

"Misha," he said quietly.

"What is it?" Misha said, his voice kind, sensing something was wrong.

"Rowan still hasn't asked me to pleasure her in the bedroom."

Misha paused just briefly before answering. "I see. I hadn't realized. Would you like me to intercede on your behalf?"

"No," Jensen said. "The last thing I'd want is for her to request me because she felt like she had to. I guess I'm just wondering if--if I'm doing anything obviously wrong, or--or what."

"No honey," Misha said softly. "You haven't down anything wrong. The truth is that, since our . . . mutual indiscretion, Rowan and I have both noticed you seemed withdrawn when it comes to your sexuality. We both thought it would be best to give you space to recover and adjust, and wait until you seemed more--open, sexually. After everything between us, Rowan and I both worried that we'd pushed you too far. That I had, especially. That night when I--penetrated you."

"I'm a trained pleasure slave, Mish."

Misha frowned. "That doesn't mean that you have to make yourself sexually available at every moment. At least, not unless Rowan asks you to serve her in that fashion. But she hasn't asked you to serve in that capacity, for now."

Jensen sighed heavily. "It would be easier if she would. Then I'd know what to do."

"What would you do?" Misha said.

"I'd seduce her," Jensen said. Wasn't that obvious?

"Jensen--if you're ready to pleasure Rowan, then just go ahead and do that. Seduce her."

 

***

In the end, it took hardly any time at all. Jensen decided to trust his Handler on this and to go about seducing Rowan, despite his own uncertainty. He wouldn't do it as a Pleasure Slave would, exactly, since Rowan hadn't asked that of him--but he didn't need to be kneeling at her side in submission (and just his underwear) the entire day to achieve his desired effect. When he woke, he went and worked out--he rarely missed a workout, but suddenly they seemed all that more important, and then showered. By 8 am he was in the kitchen making breakfast for Rowan--she rarely woke up before 9 on Sundays. He cut up strawberries and put them in a bowl with blueberries, raspberries, and passionfruit. And then he made his Belgian waffles, glad to see he hadn't forgotten how to use a waffle iron. He put some warmed maple syrup in a small white pitcher, filled a bowl with homemade whipped cream. Arranged it on a silver tea service platter, adding a vase with a single flower from one of the arrangements around the house--a purple lily, the most erotic looking one he could find. He poured hot water into the French press and then, everything arranged on the standing breakfast tray, carried it up to her room. It was a little bit after nine and he was hoping his timing was right. He knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in," Rowan's voice, not too sleepy.

He pushed the door open slowly and found Rowan still laying in bed but clearly awake.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Hey," she said. "Good morning. Oh wow. Is that all for me?"

"Sure is," Jensen said, smiling and giving her just a touch of the look. It wasn't time for the full press look, not yet. But he shone his eyes at her warmly, letting them convey adoration and just a hint of desire. He was wearing a tight v-neck that hugged his pecs and his biceps, and he knew he smelled good. "Are you ready for it?"

"Oh my gosh, yes," she said, sitting up, clearly pleased. Jensen settled the tray across her legs, then handed her the Times, which he knew she liked to read on Sunday mornings. "You thought of everything," she said, smiling back up at him, her hair in rumpled waves around her shoulders. "This is beautiful," she said. "Thank you."

"Of course," Jensen said. "Anything else you need?"

She smiled at him flirtatiously, looking like she was about to say something, and then stopped herself. "No. This is perfect."

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said, bending down and kissing her forehead. She had clearly expected him to stay, but didn't say anything when he left. Jensen knew Rowan liked a little time to herself in the mornings, and anyway, earning access to his Sponsor's bed wasn't about pressing himself on her relentlessly--it was about making her want more.

Timing it carefully, Jensen waited a couple hours until he expected Rowan would be coming down to the kitchen soon. Misha was in his study, doing Handler things--seeming to know, somehow, what Jensen was up to, and giving him space, he suspected. He filled a bucket and began to mop the floor, working until he built up some heat. He would have preferred to have done this outdoors, working in the garden or on the yard, but it was December and he’d look just downright ridiculous. After he was warmed up a bit, he took a calculated risk and peeled off his shirt, casting it aside onto the counter. This was technically not allowed. Males were not supposed to display their bare chests out of respect to their Sponsors, in contrast to the times when men had apparently walked around shirtless all summer, yet balked if a woman tried to do the same. It was considered inappropriate for a Male to appear to his Sponsor in any state of undress unless she had explicitly asked him to, or granted him permission. So stripping off his shirt while he mopped the floor technically could have earned him punishment. But he knew Rowan well enough to know by now that she wasn’t a stickler for these little rules and was often willing to buck tradition for practices that she found stupid or pointless. And he was counting on his chest causing her a bit of distraction. He knew how attractive most women found him. He was a trained pleasure slave, he knew his strengths.

Shortly after he peeled off his shirt, he heard Rowan’s door open upstairs, her footsteps in the hallway. He kept mopping, keeping his back turned to her so that she’d have time to see him without being seen, to take him in. When she made a small noise he had no choice but to whirl around, grabbing his shirt as he did.  
“Ro. Hey,” he said, struggling to get his shirt back on as quickly as possible. “Sorry, I meant to—I didn’t hear you.” He grinned coyly, looking up at her from beneath his eyebrows. “Forgive me?”

“Appearing in a state of undress without permission is a punishable offense,” she said, and for a moment Jensen thought he had misjudged her—until he looked up and met her eye, and saw the unmistakeable sheen of arousal there, and flirtation. The look of Rowan liking what she saw. Almost as soon as he saw it, though, it flickered away, and he remembered Misha’s words about her being nervous about pushing him too far. He knew she needed to know that he wanted this, and so before she could speak to rescind her flirtatiousness, he moved toward her, coming close, slowly. Then he dropped to his knees and, looking up at her, checking for her reactions, put his hands on her upper thighs, holding her. Then he lowered his gaze, pressing his face into her groin. He let out a pleading breath and said, into her body, his voice husky,

“Punish me, please.”

Rowan put her hands in his hair, gripping it, not too roughly. 

“You’ve been a bad boy, Jensen,” she said, and he let out a sound that was half-moan, half-growl, all arousal, all displaying his need for her, his want. 

“Yes I have,” he said. He let one of his hands find its way around to her bottom, digging his fingers in just slightly. She let out a little sound, just a breath. 

“Stand up,” she said, and Jensen did. He hadn’t expected the scene to go quite like this—he had been meaning to tempt her and then hoping to be able to pleasure her later that night—but he wasn’t complaining. Rowan let her gaze roam up and down his body.

“Since you enjoy being naked so much, why don’t you finish the job?” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, in that same husky voice. He drew his shirt off slowly, casting it aside. Then he unbuckled his belt and slid it off through the loops, handing it to her. This pleased her. He knew it pleased her to see them punished, sometimes—when they weren’t being punished too harshly. It was an easy way to please her, and he was happy to do it. Then he took off his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He placed his hands at the waist of his boxer briefs and then looked at her, asking with his eyes. Rowan’s eyes were dilated, she was clearly aroused. 

“Come upstairs,” she said, and followed him up, the belt still in her hand. When Jensen reached her door he stopped and stepped aside, waiting for her permission.

“Jensen,” she said. “I invite you into my private chambers. Do you accept?”

It was formal language, he was surprised to learn she even knew it. But he loved her for asking, loved her for using the protocol which made it clear: Rowan was inviting Jensen into her room to pleasure her.

“I’m honored to accept,” Jensen said sincerely. 

“Are you sure you want this?”

“God, Rowan. More than anything,” Jensen said.

Rowan smiled. She walked backwards into her room, watching him. “Take those off,” she said, lifting her chin toward his underwear. Jensen lifted a flirtatious eyebrow in obedience and slid the boxer briefs off. Free from anything to inhibit it, Jensen’s cock sprang from its constraints, hard and thick already. Rowan tossed his belt to the floor and crooked her finger at him. “Start where we left off.”

With some power this time, Jensen moved toward her and went to his knees. No longer holding back, he pressed his face into the place where her legs met, inhaling her scent, wrapping his arms around behind her and pulling her toward him. She was wearing a dress but no tights underneath, her legs bare. It struck him that she didn’t normally go bare legged now that it was cold. She was ready for this.He ran his hands up and down her legs, feeling her wonderful curves—her calves, her hips, the sway of her full bottom. There had been times, in his training, when Jensen had to fake this want, but not now. Certainly not now. He kept his hands outside her dress, moving them up and down, squeezing a bit, until finally he placed one hand on her knee and slowly, watching her, ran it up the length of her leg, beneath her dress, curving around to cup her behind. Rowan let out a little moan and Jensen moved his hand around to the inside of her thigh, close to her underwear but not touching it, and then back down. Teasing her a bit, yes. After breathing her in, he moved backwards, lowering himself so that he could kiss her ankles, which were bare. Some women loved to see him in this position, almost fully on his belly, kissing the tops of her feet. Rowan moved backward and sat on the bed, however, and so Jensen rose back to a kneel and met her there.

Now it was time to learn her body. Jensen approached her reverently, between her knees. He looked up at her as he slid his hand underneath her left thigh and lifted her leg gently. Then he began to kiss her leg, starting at her ankle and moving slowly up, stroking her thigh with his other hand as he did so. He went all the way up her leg, using his fingers and his lips, watching goosebumps rise on her skin. He did this until she had begun to trust his touch—until he had shown he would be gentle and needy at once. Then he dared to let his fingers to to the bottom of her dress, and Rowan reached down and raised her hips and pulled it off, and Jensen took in the beautiful sight of her in her underwear and bra, and he could tell from the way she was looking at him that she trusted him in this. So he moved up from his knees—he knew she wanted him to touch her between her legs, but he had no intention of giving it to her that soon. This was his first time and he was going to make her want it. He didn’t get on top of her, he wouldn’t dare—definitely not the first time, and maybe not ever. Instead he placed a kiss on her belly button, and she fell backwards onto the bed, surrendering, and he moved up beside her so that he could caress and kiss the full length of her body, tracing a line with his lips from her belly button, up, up, until he was between her breasts. He kissed their dark tips softly, so softly, watching her. She shuddered. Then he kissed her neck and ran his hand over her breasts and down, until his finger tips grazed her underwear. She thrust her hips up, meeting him, and he moved his hand back up. Then back down, letting his fingertips graze the top of her folds, through the underwear. Then back up. Then back down again after a moment, this time pressing his palm to her mound, then away. Kissing her, distracting her with his lips on hers. 

He let his hand roam back down again, going beneath the underwear this time. Rowan moaned and reached down and shoved it off, and Jensen grazed her folds gently with his fingertips, finding her clit with his eyes and then just barely brushing it with his fingers. Then he took her side and gently rolled her over onto her belly. She went willingly, because Jensen had done enough caressing and stroking to soften her, make her pliable, earn her trust. He had intended to give her back the same treatment, the back of her neck, her bottom, but something stopped him.

The scars. There weren’t many, but even one was too much. Crossing the length of her back, one across the shoulders, and two in the middle. They were pale now and he traced his finger over them, his eyes filling with tears. Jensen had a few scars of his own, of course, but to see them on his Sponsor was against nature. “Rowan,” he said. “This never should have happened to you.”

Rowan turned slightly to her side, craning her neck to look him right in the eye. “With you here, it’s like it never did.”

Jensen let out a hungry, needy groan and moved down, tracing his finger tips the length of her back, until he reached her ass, which he began to kiss, his hands roaming her thighs. After a moment she reached her hand down and he knew she was going to touch herself between her legs. Before she could he flipped her over, onto her back again, and then lowered himself until his face was between her legs. He watched her as he scooped an arm under each thigh. She groaned and thrust herself toward him, aching and wanting. He could smell her arousal. He approached what he was about to do worshipfully. She was his goddess, his holy thing, and each kiss and suck and flick of the tongue was a tribute, an offering, to her. 

He worshipped her pussy. Rowan was warm and trusting, which made it easy for him. As he kissed at the hood over her clitoris, he ran his fingers along either side, massaging the parts of her arousal organ that stretched beneath the skin. Every woman was different, and Jensen wanted to learn her preferences quickly, while knowing that it might take some time. Still, he paid close attention, watching her, listening. He pulled back the hood of her clit and kissed it directly and she stiffened, just slightly, but it told him what he needed to know. Too much. He moved away for a moment, going to her inner thighs, and then back up. He was keeping things simple tonight because he wanted to learn her, and earn her trust. There would be time for more. For now, he just listened to her body like it was music. He attenuated his senses to it like she was wind and he was a navigator, traveling her, tasting her, his tongue a boat upon the waves of her body.

Soon she was cresting and falling like those waves, her body rising up to meet him, aching, and then falling back down. Finally, letting out a desperate moan, she reached down and took his hair in her hands and pulled him towards her, driving him into her, and he knew it was time. He made his tongue flat and as hard as possible and moved it in counterclockwise signals—her preferred rhythm, he now knew—until she was bucking beneath him, and then crying out, loudly, totally lost to herself, the sounds of her pleasure making him rock hard. She came, and came, the orgasm running ripples over her body, Jensen watching in amazement. A woman’s orgasm could take over her entire body in a way a man’s couldn’t. He waited between her legs as she came down from it, panting, her body covered in sweat and trembling beneath him. 

“My god, Jensen,” she said. Jensen beamed, the joy of pleasing her so thoroughly warming his veins, running over him. She pulled him up toward her and he stretched out along her side, running his fingertips lightly over her belly, watching her in her glow, watching her come back to herself, now relaxed and sated. 

He didn’t expect to have his own orgasm. It wasn’t even on his mind. It was common for Sponsors to make their males wait to enjoy their own orgasms, and Jensen wouldn’t worry until he’d been pleasing her for a full year without being allowed to come. At that point it might be a sign that he was doing something wrong. So he was surprised when, after a few moments, Rowan rose and moved on top of him, pinning his hands beneath her wrists. Jensen surrendered immediately, yielding all control to her. He was hers, after all. As a pleasure slave, it was his job to bring her to orgasm and then to let her have her way with him, or not, as she chose. Rowan smiled down at him and then kissed him, hard, claiming him with her mouth. She ran her tongue between his lips and he opened, letting her in. Then she withdrew and moved her kisses down his chest, moving slowly, kissing his stomach next, and then just above the place where his hair began, or would have, had he not shaved it all off for her. Then, her hands intertwined with his, she raised her hips. His cock stood obediently at attention beneath her and she sheathed him, lowering herself onto him, taking him in, claiming him. 

Jensen moaned. It felt unbelievably good. She began to move slowly, up and down, teasing him a bit, as he had done to her. Rowan moved up and down, displaying herself to him, and he took her in. Her breasts, her belly, her hips. Her skin still flushed with her own orgasm, her hair a beautiful tangle. She kept his arms pinned, making him yield, and rode him until he was panting and growling, until Jensen drew so close to orgasm, he had to tell her.

“Sweetheart, I’m too close—“ he said helplessly. In the future he would ask her permission to come, but he wasn’t going to even ask this time, he wasn’t ready to take that liberty. Especially not while he was still inside her, not until she--

“You have my permission,” she said. “Come.”

Jensen did.


	14. Chapter 14

On Christmas Eve morning, Misha and Jensen woke early to start preparing the many appetizers, sweets, and cocktails they would serve at the Christmas Eve party. They showered, Misha cooked some eggs while Jensen made coffee, and after a quick breakfast they got to work. Outisde all of the big windows that looked out into the forest, snow was flickering down between the trees. Misha put on Christmas music and turned on the lights on the towering tree, which gave off a warm and cozy glow. As he diced the second of the four onions Misha had set before him, Jensen was filled with an overwhelming sense of comfort and gratitude. It felt so safe there, in Rowan's house, with its clear rules and discipline with compassion, Misha and Rowan both accepting him and valuing him as he was.

Nevermind the fact that Misha was working magic in the kitchen.

"Where'd you learn to do all this?" Jensen said, pausing from dicing a growing pile of vegetables to watch Misha, wearing an apron, beating a mixture of egg whites and cream to a stiff foam.

"Finishing school," Misha said.

"Really?"

Misha smiled. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"No, I just didn't realize you were a man of such pedigree. Don't they teach all kinds of old stuff at finishing school?"

"They call them the courtly arts," Misha said with a wryly raised brow. "Skills useful for assisting a woman of Rowan's position and stature. I'd be useless in other situations--on a farm or a ranch, for instance."

In the Pleasure Houses Jensen had learned one thing: how to pleasure people sexually. Sure, there had been lessons in etiquette and making conversation, things a Pleasure Male might be called upon to do, but those looped back to his ability to serve in the bedroom, and were secondary to it, anyway. He couldn't imagine what else there was to learn.

"What other stuff did they teach you?"

"Well--besides baking and cooking, there were years of household care and basic design--how to make sheets smell nice and hang pictures attractively, that sort of thing. Flower arranging and holiday decorating. There was some pleasure education, but there was too much else for it to be a main focus. Poetry, philosophy, art and literature, so we could keep up with a discussion--or compose sonnets to our Sponsors. And of course a lot of it was Male Etiquette and Handler training--how to serve a Sponsor and Handle other males in the household."

"Wow." Jensen was shocked and suddenly felt a touch inferior. He'd had no idea just how far Misha's training outpaced his own. As if sensing this, Misha glanced up from his concoction and focused his brilliant eyes on Jensen.

"You're training is just as valuable as mine, Jensen. Imagine of there were two of me, and no you. Rowan would be far less . . . satisfied," he said meaningfully. Jensen flushed, then grinned and went back to dicing onions. 

When Rowan came down, Jensen sensed immediately something was up. It was earlier than they had been expecting to see her, and she wasn't in her pajamas for a relaxing day, but showered and dressed. She smiled at them, but it was one of her reassuring smiles. "I'll get you some coffee," said Misha, a proper Male, at the same time Jensen said simply, "What's wrong?"

Misha looked mildy disapproving at Jensen's forwardness, but Rowan was gentle. "It's all right. I need to tell you, anyway." She sat at the island and Jensen sat across from her. When Misha had finished her latte, he brought it to her and sat with them.

"I'd been waiting to tell you two until the situation became more straight forward. But for about three months now, I've been looking into the possibility of bringing another male into the household."

Jensen blanched and looked wild-eyed at Misha. Misha immediately put a steadying hand on his back. Rowan took Jensen's hand in hers. "Jensen," she said firmly. "This is absolutely not some sign that I'm unhappy at all with you. I couldn't possibly be happier than you make me. I'm beyond satisfied with your performance--Misha and I both love and value you and your presence here. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Jensen said, even though her question had been gentle, with nothing to signify any discipline. It wasn't exactly right, to answer so formally when not required, but Misha and Rowan both seemed to understand it was his default reaction under stress and left it alone.

"I'm not seeking him out to replace any lack or dissatisfaction with you two. In fact, I never planned to take another male--until I became aware of the situation."

"All right, Jensen?" Misha asked. Jensen nodded.

"His situation isn't unlike yours was, Jensen," Rowan said. "For about a year, he's been with a Sponsor he's terribly ill-matched for--one I know from Sponsor school, unfortunately. And, not unlike you, he's been doing everything he can to try and please her. Nothing does. Nothing would." Rowan's voice was hard with the disdain she held for this type of Sponsor. "I wanted to tell you both sooner, but these things have to be done very delicately."

"You don't owe us that, or anything," Misha said. Rowan smiled at him gratefully.

"Anyway, it seemed the situation would wait until nearly spring. But I’ve been monitoring it, and I just received an alert from the Registry. His Sponsor kicked him out last night and he's been transferred to a transition center."

"How awful," Misha said. "On Christmas Eve."

Jensen wasn't sure how he felt about having another male in the home, but he didn't like the thought of someone Rowan obviously cared about being held in a TC--a prison, essentially--on Christmas. Also, he knew, it was none of his business what Rowan chose to do—absolutely none—and he needed to get himself in check."Is there anything that could help him?"

Rowan smiled gently. "There will be lots of paperwork but . . . if I leave now, I could have him home tonight. Maybe even in time for the party."

Misha and Jensen were both aware that Rowan was in no way obligated to tell them her plans, let alone seek their feedback or approval.

"I know how hard you two have been working. I'll do everything I can to make it home in time to see the party you've planned--"

"Don't worry about that," said Misha. "Go. I'll pack you a lunch. There might not be anything of quality to eat there."

"Jensen?"

Jensen nodded. "Of course. Go right away."

Rowan stood. She cae around to his side of the island and took him in her arms. "You are my beloved, Jensen," she said just to him. "Nothing will change that--ever." She looked at Misha meaningfully over Jensen's shoulder. Misha nodded and smiled before hurrying to prepare her a lunch.

 

Rowan left in a flurry, kissing them both and telling them how proud she was before hurrying out the door, clutching a thermos of hot coffee, a lunch lovingly packed by Misha, and her leather bag full of the papers she'd need to adopt a new male. They watched her drive away.

"She didn't even tell us his name," Jensen said. Misha put a hand on his back.

"You need to ground yourself in trust for Rowan today," he said. "She wouldn't even consider bringing him in if she didn't feel confident he'd be a good fit. Now come on. You have short ribs to braise."

 

Misha was grateful for the large amounts of work they had to do, which focused Jensen’s mind and kept him from worrying too much about the new male. Still, it wasn’t enough to make him forget completely, and he turned to Misha with questions throughout the day.

“Will my rank go down now?”

“Your rank can’t go down, Jensen—“

“It can, though,” Jensen said. “They say that, but I’ve seen it happen.” Misha waited, but Jensen did not seem inclined to elaborate.

 

“With Rowan, it won’t.”

“But if his rank is higher than mine-- I’ll have to submit to him.”

“And if it’s higher than mine, so will I,” Misha said. “Can you do that, Jensen? Remember. It’s Rowan asking it of you.”

Jensen took a deep breath. He was treading close to mutiny, he realized. “Of course. I’ll do whatever she asks of me. Gladly.”

 

“Has she ever asked of you more than you could bear?”

“No.”

“Then take comfort in that.”

But later—

“What if he’s another pleasure slave?”

Misha looked at him. “Trust me, Jensen. You are uniquely alluring. You won’t ever be redundant.”

Jensen nodded but lowered his head. “I’d just—I’d feel better if we’d had more time. If I’d had more opportinities to please her—“

“First of all, we have no reason to believe he IS a Pleasure Slave. He might be, but we just don’t know. But my main concern is that you’re displaying a lack of trust in Rowan. She wouldn’t do this if we couldn’t handle it. Not only that, but she’s our Sponsor, Jensen. You are toeing a dangerous line. We’re sworn to obey her. So do that now. Obey.”

Jensen drew in a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll correct myself.”

Misha nodded.

 

Just before guests were expected to start arriving, Misha got a text. “She’s on her way,” he called to Jensen, tying his black bowtie hurriedly in his bathroom mirror. It was a new tux—Rowan liked a fancy Christmas Eve and then a much more wild, casual New Years. He checked his cuffs and then, without thinking too much about it, took a paddle from his closet and went down the hall to Jensen’s room. He entered without knocking and found Jensen ready, his own tux perfect, about to leave to head downstairs. 

“Bend over the edge of the bed, please,” said Misha.

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, and obeyed easily. Misha gave no explanation and wasted no time. He pulled the paddle back and spanked Jensen with it, taking up an immediate rhythm. He didn’t make it especially severe or punishing, just enough to smart Jensen’s skin and sharpen his focus. Jensen relaxed almost immediately into the paddling, going limp under it and lettout out the little groans of half pain, half arousal that were so typically Jensen. Misha paddled him thirty times, fast, not too hard. Then he paused.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” Jensen said, but Misha wasn’t convinced.

“Take down your pants. I’m giving you ten more on the bare.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said. He unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down to his ankles. He raised his the bottom of his jacket off his ass and onto his lower back. Then he took two fists of blanket in his fingers and waited, seeming to sense what was coming. Misha raised the paddle high and slammed it into Jensen’s ass, using all his strength. Jensen groaned loudly, squeezing the blanket. Misha gave him nine more, equally hard, each one sounding out a stunning SMACK as the wood met Jensen’s bare flesh.

On the tenth stroke, Jensen bucked his hips back and came, orgasming onto the bedspread.

“Sorry—“

“It’s all right,” Misha said. He put the paddle down and cupped his hands around Jensen’s buttocks, rubbing and soothing the hot flesh.

“Better now?”

“Like a million times better,” Jensen sighed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Get cleaned up. I’ll take the spread down to the laundry room.” He got it taken care of just as the first guest rang the doorbell.

 

An hour in and with most of their guests arrived at the party, Misha was glad to see Jensen seemed his usual, comfortable self. Of course they had spent most of the time explaining Rowan’s absence to everyone, but it wasn’t anything unordinary for a woman to be taking a new male in, and most people expressed little surprise. The one exception being Gen, who knew Rowan enough to know how unlike her the timing was, the rush. But Gen was kind and sensitive as usual, and Misha had seen her swat Jensen on the butt, not hard, just a reminder that she would take care of him if necessary.

Misha was watching Jensen charm Rowan’s old friend Briana and her male, Matty, when his Handler’s keeper vibrated in his pocket. It could only mean one thing. Rowan was here with the new acquisition. He moved to go to Jensen but Jensen seemed to sense, like a thread of electricity ran between them. He looked up, saw the look in Misha’s eyes, and politely excused himself from the conversation.

Without speaking on it, they went to the butler’s foyer. It was a small room between the garage and the rest of the house, an intimate sort of room where Rowan tended to throw anything she carried into the house, and Misha was constantly patiently picking up. Misha shut the door behind him. Christmas music and the sounds of the party still sounded quietly through the thick wood.

“I’m nervous,” Jensen said.

“Just be polite. Follow my lead. Follow Rowan’s cues, you know how to do that.” Jensen nodded. “It’s going to be fine, Jensen. Look how much happier I am now that you’re here.”

Jensen looked at Misha, eyes flooding with relief and love. Misha drew Jensen toward him and kissed him, briefly, on Jensen’s forehead. Then he gently turned Jensen and spanked him, hard, five times. Jensen let out a deep breath just as Row opened the door.

She entered with a rush of bitter cold, fresh air from outside, the smell of snow swirling around her. Jensen first noticed that she looked tired but happy.Her cheeks were bright, her eyes shining. Just to see that granted him a measure of comfort. He could withstand a lot, as long as she was happy.

“Good evening,” Misha said, springing into immediate action. He stepped forward to take her bags. She kissed him breezily on the cheek, then turned to Jensen and did the same.

“My goodness, you two look nice," Rowan said, eyeing them as she pulled off her gloves and scarf, casting them aside. Misha handily caught them and tucked them into a drawer in the credenza. 

“It’s good to see you,” Jensen blurted out emphatically, relief gushing out. He immediately regretted it but Rowan smiled with her usual warmth. Behind her, the other male—the new male—had entered the room. A tall, good looking male with brown hair and striking blue eyes. He had a scruffy five o’clock shadow across his jaw and above his lip, and was wearing the drab gray pants, t-shirt, and sweatshirt of the transition centers. Not even a jacket, against this cold. He folded his hands in front of him and kept his eyes modestly downturned. Jensen looked at him and smiled, slipping into a more public, charming self. Rowan spoke before he had to think of something to say.

“Misha, Jensen, this is Joshua Jackson, District Six, formerly of Klark household. Joshua, please meet Misha Collins West, District Two, Level Six, and Jensen Ackles West, District Six, Level Three.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Joshua said, leaning forward and taking Misha’s hand first, which was protocol.

“Welcome,” Misha smiled warmly. “We’re glad to have you here.”

“Welcome,” Jensen said, shaking Joshua’s hand. Joshua seemed confident and steady. He seemed far less nervous than Jensen felt.

“I know technically we should have a Handler’s check and all that,” Rowan said. “But I’m hoping no one will mind if we skip all that on account of the party we’re hosting? I’d like to postpone it until after Christmas, actually.”

“Of course,” Misha said. “Whatever you wish.”

Rowan smiled. “Good. Let’s just go through the very basic, then.” She turned to Joshua and adopted the more formal, commanding tone any male would need to get him through the next bit. “Joshua. To show your obedience, please adopt whatever submissive position you’re accustomed to.”

This was an important part of the protocol for a new male coming into the household. It required him to prove that he would submit to the new authorities over him. Jensen knew that if the performance wasn’t good enough, Misha couldn’t stop the process, but he could red-flag his records, a permanent mark.

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said smartly. He turned and bent over, wrapping his arms around his knees so that his bottom was presented for punishment. Rowan let a good three beats pass before saying, “Good. Misha?”

“Please adopt a second submissive position, Joshua,” Misha said, firmly but gently.

“Yes sir,” Joshua said. He straightened slightly, then gracefully droped to his knees. Then he rested his chest flat against the tops of his thighs, rather like a yoga pose, with his bottom raised high in the air. He folded his hands together beneath his thighs. Jensen noticed a certain stiffness to some of his movements, however. Joshua had been beaten recently, he’d bet. Almost certainly by his former Sponsor and not at the TC. Rowan wouldn’t bring home the kind of male who would make trouble at a center.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Boys, please take note of this position. It pleases me.” Her tone was wry but they both knew she was serious. “Yes ma’am,” they answered together. Jensen felt a bizarre stab of jealousy—he knew the position, after all, and he could have pleased her with it himself. He was just never asked to.

“Jensen.”

“Please adopt a third submissive position,” Jensen said, trying to imitate Misha’s tone.

“Yes sir,” Joshua said. He was a big man, taller and broader than Misha, but he moved gracefully. He rose slightly, then moved onto his back. He lifted his legs up, holding them at his upper thighs, executing a perfect and highly submissive position seven. At the last minute he moved his eyes to meet Jensen’s—eye contact was a part of the position. Jensen pulled it together and maintained eye contact calmly, waiting a few moments until Rowan said, “Very good, Joshua. Up, please.”

“Thank you, ma’am” Joshua asked, and stood gracefully.

“Misha, do you have any objections?”

“No,” Misha said. “None.”

“Good.” Rowan smiled. “Well, Joshua, as you can see, we’re throwing a party. Misha, could you show him to his rooms? I’m sure you’re tired from the day. Please take awhile to rest—an hour if you need it—but then I’d like you to attend the party, at least for a little while. Unless you have any serious objections?”

“It would be my honor to attend,” Joshua said. He seemed to mean it.

“Misha, I don’t suppose you have any clothes—or probably any of Jensen’s clothes—that might fit Joshua?”

I already laid some out,” Misha said. “And I took the liberty of taking down your jewelry—the emeralds.”

“You’re a treasure,” she said. “Thank you.”

“All right, follow me,” Misha said to Joshua, smiling. “The house can be confusing at first.” Jensen watched Rowan watch them go. He could practically smell her arousal. It took everything he had to hold still and wait for a signal that he should act on it.

When Joshua shut the door behind them, Rowan’s eyes flickered immediately to Jensen’s groin, then to his eyes, with her lower lip tucked between her teeth. It was all he needed. Jensen moved toward her, put his hand on her face, and kissed her. She was hungry. She kissed him back, hard, and then she bit him. Jensen knew the signal. It was Rowan’s way of showing that she wanted to be handled a bit roughly. He grabbed her shirt and pulled her close. Then he slid his hand into the waist band of her underwear but didn’t go any further, teasing. His other hand cupped her buttocks and he pressed his hard cock—Joanna could call him ‘oversexed’ all she wanted, it sure was convenient for a pleasure slave—into her groin. She moaned.

If she had been in another mood, Jensen might have stepped back and stripped for her, but that wasn’t right this time. Instead he drew back slightly and then took a risk. Put his palms on her shoulders and spun her around. Rowan surrendered to his hands. Sometimes, he knew from his training, a Sponsor would want to surrender. They spent so much time—Rowan spent so much time—looking after and disciplining others, that it was natural they’d crave a release from that. He bent her forward. She braced her hands against the side table there. Jensen put his hand in her hair and grabbed, jerking her slightly, forcing her to expose her neck, which he kissed. He did that gently, slowly, for a moment. Then he put one hand on her back to hold her still while with his other hand he pulled down her skirt and tights. She gasped, but it was a happy sound. Jensen reached into her underwear and teased his fingers around her clit. He put his other hand back in her hair and tugged at it. Carefully, he nipped her ear with his teeth.

“What do you need, Ro?”

“Jensen—“

He pulled his hand out of her underwear, yanked it down, and spanked her bottom. She moaned again. It was clearly encouragement. He spanked her again.

“Tell me what you need.”

“To be fucked,” she gasped. “Oh god, Jensen.”

She wanted it quick, and the party demanded they make it quick, so he wouldn’t tease her too long. He took a moment, rubbing at her wet clit, then pulling back to spank her, then rubbing it again. After a few rounds of this, Rowan let out a whimper and that was when he picked her up, spun her, and lifted her hips to sit her on the end table. He grabbed both her wrists in one arm and kissed her. Then he dropped to his knees and buried his head between her thighs, going to work with his tongue. She was wet, sea-scented, ready. She moaned and he dug his fingers into her fleshy bottom. “Don’t make any noise,” he commanded, then went back to her clit with his lips and tongue. It wasn’t long before she gripped his hair and came, bucking into him, her thighs shaking. When he was sure she was finished, Jensen gently rocked back onto his heels and gazed at her, keeping his hands on her thighs, caressing her lovingly. Her head was flung back against the wall, she was panting, her neck glistening with a sheen of sweat. After a moment she opened her eyes and smiled down at him. Jensen smiled back. Then she stood, pulling Jensen to a stand with her. She turned and bent over, lifting her ass. He never expected to orgasm afer pleasing her, pleasuring her was the goal and his own pleasure was secondary. Jensen put his hands on her hips. Almost always, he used the customary, “May I enter you?” but occasionally it didn’t feel right, and Jensen risked it to his instincts this time. He entered her directly, not forcefully and not too quickly, but faster than he might under other circumstances. One hand in her hair and the other around her waist, he began to thrust up into her. She was warm and wet, the pleasure of being inside her—of being allowed inside his mistress—was almost too much to bear. He circled his hips and thrust.

“Hard,” Rowan encouraged. Jensen came fast.

 

Jensen handed Rowan a drink and stayed close to her, abandoning any of his own conversations for awhile to stay silent and vaguely submissmive by her side. It wasn’t required of it, and Rowan hadn’t asked it, but it was generally considered a sign of good breeding and reflected well on Rowan. Plus, Jensen intuited, it comforted her. To have him close by and observing. It wasn’t long, maybe about thirty minutes, before Misha appeared with Joshua, who had changed out of the TC clothes and into a sharp dark blue suit—one of Jensen’s—that fit him well. Jensen stayed with her as she went to greet them. “I’m sure this is an overwhelming situation to be coming into,” she said. She glanced briefly at Jensen and, taking her hint, he went to the bar to pour Joshua drink. Scotch and soda on ice. When he brought it back, Rowan was saying, “ . . . just know you won’t be punished tonight for anything short of outright rebellion. You won’t ever be punished for something that you don’t already know is wrong—no surprises. Try not to worry too much about doing anything wrong tonight. If you do—I doubt you will, we’re pretty relaxed tonight, but if—we’ll speak to you about it privately before even thinking about punishments. All right?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you so much for—letting me into your home like this.”

Jensen recognized himself in Joshua’s expression—overwhelm combining with a sort of wonderment. Could he really have managed to land himself here? Could Rowan be as good as she seemed? Smiling ruefully, Jensen handed him the scotch and soda. “I don’t know your drink yet,” he said. “But I figure this will do for now.”

Joshua accepted the drink gratefully. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

After that Rowan linked her arm through Joshua’s, and began introducing him to everyone at the party. Christmas music was blasting--an old version of "Rocking Around The Christmas Tree", currently--people were dancing, eating, enjoying themselves fully. It was late enough that the party had gone a bit wild. Two Sponsors over by the Christmas tree posed tipsily for a photo and nearly fell into the tree itself, busy draping each other with tinsel. Brianna grabbed Rowan's hand and spun her around, both of them laughing. Kim came up behind them and threw her arm around Briana's neck, and Brianna turned and kissed her on the lips in a frank and joyful way. The Males were a bit more subdued, watching their Sponsor's. Sponsor's needed--and earned--time to cut loose, but drunken antics weren't desirable in a Male. Still, many of them were laughing a bit more boisterously than usual, openly enjoying themselves. 

As Jensen watched, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Joshua managed to be polite and respectful while also seeming comfortable and at ease—but not too comfortable, which would not have been appropriate. He remained deferential and appropriately subdued, but shook hands and smiled warmly as he met one of their friends after another. Misha came up behind Jensen while Jensen was watching Joshua bow his head respectfully, waiting for Gen to offer her hand. When she did, he shook it, smiling with a combination of warmth and a certain shyness, and only after greeting Gen did he acknowledge Jared, who pumped Joshua’s hand with his usual friendly vigor, clapping him on the back and then asking him a question, pointing toward Joshua's drink. Probably some question about the scotch, Jared was something of a scotch snob.

“She would never have brought him if she wasn’t confident he’d be a good fit,” Misha said gently, in a low voice, just for Jensen. Jensen nodded. He could see that. And yet he couldn’t help but feel threatened.

“I’m still—edgy about it,” he confessed to Misha. “Do I need punishment for that?”

Misha sighed. “Not yet.”

From across the room, Rowan caught Jensen’s eye and beamed. Jensen smiled back.

“I’m going to have one more drink,” Jensen said. “And then I’m going to ask you to paddle me if I have another one after that. Okay?”

"Try to relax, Jensen. It's Christmas. Rowan wants us to enjoy ourselves." But as soon as he spoke, Misha saw his error. Jensen wouldn't be able to enjoy himself fully or relax at all if he didn't trust that Misha was there to correct him if he needed it. "But all right," he added. As Jensen was on his way to the bar, Joshua glanced over and caught Misha's eye. The smile on his face dwindled somewhat and Misha read the unspoken question in the male's eyes. Misha nodded. Yes, the nod said. You're doing well. Joshua nodded back gratefully, and then Rowan said something to him and he turned, drawn back into the conversation with Jared and Gen. Misha shook his head ruefully. Rowan was so excited, so happy, she had no idea what she was putting Joshua through, introducing him into a new household like this. Hours ago Joshua had been sitting in a TC probably expecting to be there for weeks, and suddenly Rowan shows up and whisks him away to her mansion in the woods, her picture-perfect Christmas house, to a party without any clear protocols, involving 50 or so of their friends. There were so many chances for a brand new male to screw up in a social situation such as this one. He went over to join Joshua, offering, he hoped, some sort of anchoring into the poor male's wild, unpredictable night.


	15. Christmas Morning~ Handler's Initiation

On Christmas morning they all slept late. Jensen woke at nine in his own bed to the sight of snow blanketing the fir trees outside his window. His sheets were soft and clean, and the scents of cinnamon and sausage were wafting up the stairs and through his open doorway. Rowan had told them all to sleep in for as long as they wanted the night before, so Jensen didn’t worry or rush. He thought about showering and getting dressed, but decided he would check and see if Misha wanted help in the kitchen first.

In the kitchen, however, he found Rowan and Joshua. He stopped in the entryway. He couldn’t believe Misha had allowed this—allowed Rowan to rise on Christmas morning to prepare food for them? While dealing with a new male, nonetheless? Rowan was still in her pajamas, her hair knotted on top of her head. Joshua was fully dressed, and—Jensen could scarcely believe it—sitting at the island, watching Rowan work.

Jensen opened his mouth to say something, protest or scold, he wasn’t sure, when he felt a hand at his waist, pressing through his t-shirt and into his hip bones. “Jensen,” Misha said quietly into his ear. “Rowan cooks for us on Christmas morning. It’s a tradition.”

“Is it?” Jensen said. He realized his heart was pounding. Anger, he supposed.

“Yes. Trust Ro to handle Joshua today. Surely you don’t doubt her ability to handle a male? She’ll tell us if she needs help.”

“No, of course not,” Jensen said. Rowan turned, smiling, about to speak to Joshua, when she saw Misha and Jensen.

“Good morning!” She was warm and happy. Jensen relaxed. “You’re just in time.”

“Can I help you?” Jensen said, going forward. Rowan pulled the tray back, away from him.

“Absolutely not. Sit down. That’s an order.”

Misha sat next to Joshua at the counter, leaving Jensen the end. They all bid each other good morning. Jensen was somewhat satisfied to see that Joshua at least had the decency to look a bit uncomfortable himself, to be letting Rowan wait on him like this. 

“Joshua and I were just talking about how amazing you two were last night,” Rowan said. “It’s almost cruel of me to cook now and deprive you all of another round of that.”

“It was Misha’s work,” Jensen said. “And I’m happy to eat whatever you’ve made. I’m honored.”

Jensen realized he was behaving inappropriately when Misha cut his eyes to him, and Rowan blinked quickly. Rowan wanted a casual atmosphere, and Jensen was ruining that. His instinct to ask for correction warred with his desire to give Rowan the laid-back morning she wanted. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll just—“ he abruptly closed his mouth, realizing he was better off not talking at all. He nodded once to show he was finished.

“Jensen,” Rowan said softly. She put down the tray of cinnamon rolls and clasped her hands around his. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry—“

“I’m not angry—“

“I’m not giving you what you want—“

“I don’t want you to give me anything right now,” she sighed. “I know this is a challenging situation for all of you. In spite of that, I’m very happy. I know most of the edginess you’re all feeling comes from the desire to know that you’re pleasing me. So just know that I’m happy and trust that if I’m not, I’ll let you know. Okay? If you feel you all need to be taken in hand, I will certainly do that. But I’ll admit I’m hoping I don’t have to.”

Jensen sighed and straightened his shoulders. Nodded. “Okay. Those cinnamon rolls smell incredible.”

Rowan smiled. “Would you help me with the coffee?”

“Sure,” Jensen said. It settled him to have a task to do. Of course Rowan knew that. While he set out mugs and poured coffee, getting the creamer from the fridge, Misha tried to make conversation with Joshua.

“Rowan always makes breakfast for us on Christmas morning. She insists, and after a few years—“

“Like ten,” Rowan interrupted.

“-- I finally stopped protesting,” Misha finished with a wry smile. “This is Jensen’s first Christmas with us, too,” he went on, trying to put Joshua at ease. “We’re glad you’re able to join us here.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to be welcomed here,” he said. He glanced at Rowan. “Ms. West—Rowan—has been incredibly generous.”

“I saw your records,” Rowan said. “You didn’t belong in that house and you definitely didn’t belong at a TC.” She sat down at the table with them. Jensen set the coffee and cream on the table. It occurred to him that Joshua might take sugar, even though the rest of them didn’t.

“Sugar?” he said, just as Joshua looked up at him. Joshua blinked and glanced at Rowan.

“Yea—yes?”

Jensen shook his head. “No, I mean—do you take sugar?”

Horror flashed across Joshua’s face. The absolute humiliation of the moment was dissipated by Rowan’s laughter erupting loudly as she choked on her coffee. After one terrible moment they all started laughing. Tears streamed down Rowan’s face. By the time they were done, Jensen had settled at the table and the mood was much lighter. Rowan threw her arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. Jensen caught Joshua’s eyes, and smiled.

 

Rowan allowed Jensen to take care of the breakfast dishes. He was dying to find out more about Joshua—what his training was, his Rank—but sitting him down and grilling him now wouldn’t help keep things light. After the dishes were done, Rowan declared it time for gifts. They gathered around the tree, and Rowan slid a large box that had been sitting under it for about a week toward Jensen.

Jensen’s eyes widened. “For me?” When the box had appeared, he had assumed it was something from Misha to Rowan.

“For you,” Rowan said, settling back into a comfy chair with her second mug of coffee in one hand. 

“I don’t—“ Jensen, rather embarrassingly, felt tears rising to his eyes. He managed to keep them back and to hold his voice steady as he said, “I wasn’t expecting anything.” Joanna had never once given Jensen a gift. Every year, a pile of presents went to the male who was currently held highest in her favor. Jensen had never managed to earn that status, hadn’t even tried. He’d been too busy trying to get her not to hate him to worry about something so wildly improbably as becoming her favorite. He hadn’t received a Christmas gift since he was still in the training houses.

“Open It,” Rowan said, her voice soft, clearly noting the emotions overwhelming Jensen, but refraining from commenting on them, to spare his pride. Jensen pulled the paper back to reveal a plain cardboard box, taped shut. “Here,” Misha said, handing him a pen knife. Jensen cut the tape open and pulled back the flaps to reveal a beautiful, gleaming, brand new Fender acoustic guitar, the mahogany gleaming a reddish brown in the tree lights. 

“Oh my god,” Jensen said. “Rowan—I—“ he didn’t know what to say. It was hands down the nicest thing anyone had ever given him—aside from food and shelter, of course. “Rowan—“

“You deserve it, Jensen,” she said. “You work so hard. You deserve to enjoy yourself as well.”

Misha registered the interest and surprise that crept into Joshua’s eyes at this statement. It was an unusual thing for a Sponsor to say. Most sponsor’s were not too terribly concerned with their Males enjoying themselves. They wanted them to be happy, sure, but in a general way. Not in a way that inspired them to take note of their Males’ secret interests and then drop thousands of dollars indulging them in those interests. Favorite pleasure slaves the exception, of course. Plenty of Sponsors enjoyed keeping their favorite playthings in luxury. .

“Plus, I hear you can sing,” Rowan said, raising an eyebrow. “And I expected to be serenaded as soon as possible.”

Jensen lifted the guitar from the paper surrounding it and cradled it on his lap like a newborn baby. He couldn’t bring himself to finger the strings, however. “I’m too scared to touch it,” he said. Rowan and Misha smiled indulgently. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Rowan said. 

“Rowan,” Jensen said. “Thank you so much. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”

Rowan leaned over and kissed him deeply on the mouth, cradling the back of his head in her hand. 

Next Rowan handed Misha a stocking that had an envelop sticking out of the top. The envelop contained tickets to Russia—“Just the two of us,” she said. Misha was clearly just as moved by the tickets as Jensen was by the guitar. And Jensen didn’t feel the slightest bit jealous or threatened. He knew that seeing Russia had been a long held dream of Misha’s, and Misha had been with Rowan so long. He felt secure in the knowledge that more good things would come his way—and too excited about getting to know the guitar to spend any time being jealous about a trip.  
“We managed to get one together for you too,” Rowan said, handing Joshua a stocking. “Although I’m afraid it’s pretty generic. We’ll do better next year.”

“Please,” Joshua said. “I’m so grateful either way—“

“Just open it,” Rowan said. Misha and Jensen watched as Joshua removed a few things from the stocking—a pair of leather gloves, a new electric razor, an mBox—like a datapad, but smaller and just for music—and headphones. Some expensive cashmere socks and a creamy gray new Henley shirt. Joshua frowned. He smiled weakly. He looked at Rowan.

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

Jensen’s jaw nearly dropped. He couldn’t believe the level of disrespect. Misha stiffened and looked at Rowan, waiting for instructions on how to handle this terrible breach. Jensen thought perhaps Rowan had made a mistake in bringing him here. Rowan just held up a hand.

“My apologies,” she said, in a firm tone. “I realize they aren’t the most personal of gifts. I hoped they would be better than nothing. If you have no use for them, just leave them with me.”

Joshua’s eyes had grown wider and wider as Rowan spoke. As soon as she finished, he said, “No—oh my god, ma’am—Rowan—no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—may I please kneel?”

Rowan’s face softened. “Of course,” she said. In an instant, Joshua was across the room, kneeling at her feet. He bowed his head and lowered his eyes.

“Please forgive me, ma’am. I seemed ungrateful and that is unacceptable. I’m actually incredibly grateful, deeply grateful, and I’ve failed to express that properly.”

“Please explain your comment, then. And please look at me, Joshua.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, raising his eyes to meet hers. “I take full responsibility for the misunderstanding. I’ll accept any punishment you deem necessary for that—“

“Joshua.”

He nodded. “In my former household, the gifts we received were to be used for our punishments or training. It was the tradition there. I assumed it would be the same here—I should not have assumed—and I couldn’t—“

Rowan sighed and held up her hand. “You couldn’t understand how the socks and mBox would be useful in a punishment.”

“Yes ma’am. I was—I expected to give a demonstration.”

“I see. I’m not upset with you. I’m upset to hear about these practices, but. Not with you. Oh boys,” she sighed and smiled softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve asked you all to pretend that today is something that it isn’t. It’s been a mistake. I think you’ll all feel better if we just get on with it. So let’s do that.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, as Misha nodded. 

“Joshua,” said Rowan. “My head of household is Misha Collins West. As you know, he’s from District Two and is a Level Six Male. I’m deeply proud of Misha for achieving this rank. I mean it when I say I would not have reached Level Seven myself without his steadfast dedication and discipline. When Misha an I were matched, we were both Level Twos. Misha has worked incredibly hard. He graduated Brown Finishing School where he was trained in the Courtly Arts. He is an excellent Handler, and a credit to my household.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Misha said. He seemed genuinely moved by Rowan’s words.

“My second male is Jensen Ackles West, District Six, Level Three. I have no doubt that Jensen two would have achieved at least a 5 by now had he been residing in a household that allowed him to advance. But when I acquired him 8 months ago, he was only a level Two. Jensen has achieved an Award of Excellence in the Arts of Love and Pleasure. His presence in the house is deeply pleasing to both Misha and me. I can’t express that enough. He’s a credit to my household.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jensen said, a lump in his throat.

“Misha and Jensen, this is Joshua Jackson-now-West, District Six, Level Four. Joshua is a graduate of the prestigious Rosewood and Emory Finishing school. Upon graduation, he was Selected third out of his class of two hundred. He specialized in Handling and Household management. Joshua would have, I believe, achieved a higher level by now as well, had his previous household invested in his ranking progression at all. I brought Joshua into our household because I became aware of a situation in which a Male with a huge amount of potential an promise was being—thwarted by the Sponsorship of a woman I went through training with and whose predilections were known to me. My goal for Joshua is to see him live up to his potential. I welcome him into our home.”

Joshua was blinking rapidly. When he spoke, his voice was thick and low. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Rowan met his eyes, smiling softly, and nodded. “Misha? Are you ready to start Handler’s training, or do you need some time?”

“I’m ready,” Misha said, and looked at Joshua. “Follow me.”

 

Joshua followed Misha to his study, on the first floor of this enormous home—he wouldn’t allow himself to think of it as his home, not yet--down a hallway off the kitchen. Joshua went in, and then turned to face Misha. He dropped to his knees, folding his hands behind his back, bracing himself. If Misha was going to reveal himself to be a different sort of male then he presented himself as in front of his Sponsor, this would likely be the moment he’d do it. Everyone had seemed kind enough when Rowan was around, but Joshua had been around the block enough times to know that didn’t mean they’d behave the same way when she was gone. Many males had initiation rituals of their own, usually brutal, carried out without a Sponsor’s knowledge. Or, more often, in the households of Sponsors who turned blind eyes to that sort of behavior, believing it was necessary for the Males, even good, to get it out of their systems. Joshua prepared himself—to be beaten, either with fists or a belt or god knows what object—or forced to submit to penetration, or for Misha to reveal himself to perhaps be more cunning and subtle than that.

“Please sit,” Misha said. “And relax. I know what goes on in some households—Jensen received a particularly brutal welcome to his last house, unfortunately. You won’t face that here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Joshua said, slowly rising and then sitting in one of the plush leather chairs across from the desk. He was inclined to believe Misha but it would be a mistake to let his guard down completely. He saw the contract he had signed the night before with Rowan on Misha’s desk.

 

“It would help me,” Misha said, “If you’d be willing to tell me a little bit about your previous situation. Beyond the introduction Rowan gave, I mean. One thing I should add. The PP—“ male’s shorthand for pleasure provision—“really is as it’s written. If, for whatever reason, you’d prefer not to share pleasure, that’s completely fine. You won’t ever be punished for that. I’ll tell you more about Rowan, but the first thing to know is that she means what she says.”

Joshua couldn’t imagine any Male not wanting to pleasure a Sponsor like Rowan seemed to be, but he appreciated Misha’s sensitivity. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you. That isn’t an area of concern for me.” Joshua thought carefully about what he would say next. It was head-spinning, to be snapped out of one home and into another. His instincts not to disrespect Sponsor Klark were too ingrained in him to just give them up completely. But he was also committed to showing proper respect and loyalty to Rowan, who was his Sponsor now, whether he was used to it or not.  
“I was brought into Klark household to be a Handler. It was my second household, I was selected out of finishing school into Household Ellswood-Billings,”—Joshua hoped that Rowan telling Misha that he had been the number three selection in a class of two hundred, hadn’t left Misha feeling threatened, or pissed him off. But Misha did seem remarkable unthreatened by all of this. Unlike the other Male, Jensen. “But my Sponsor died young in a car accident and there were no sisters for me to be taken in by—“

“I’m so sorry you lost your first Sponsor,” Misha said. “That must have been difficult.”

His apparently sincere sympathy threw Joshua off. “It was,” he said. He had loved her, Rose, his first Sponsor. She had been kind, too soft, really—another Male might have taken advantage of her tendency to indulgence, her inability to be stern. But Joshua hadn’t. “Thank you. Sponsor Ellswood-Billings didn’t take another male in my time with her, but in Klark household I Handled three other males. Sponsor Klark’s methods were unique. I never managed to adjust to them, I’m afraid.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the years of frustration he had experienced as her Handler got the better of him, and he looked down, swallowing hard. He had tried so hard. He had had such potential in school, had gone so early in the selection, to a prestigious old house. He had failed to live up to any of that. Rowan’s words, about wanting to give him another chance, had nearly brought him to tears.

“All right,” Misha said. “And did her methods have anything to do with why you were released?”

Misha hadn’t had the kind of Handler training Joshua had had, that was clear. Yet there was no way Joshua was going to show it. Misha was his Handler now, and he would submit perfectly to his methods, whatever they were. Handler initiations usually consisted of a vigorous paddling and a required show of submission on the part of the new male, but if Misha would rather talk, Joshua certainly wouldn’t complain. “Yes sir,” Joshua said, deciding he owed his Handler his honesty. “Well I don’t know, actually, but I’m sure--I mean, no—it wasn’t her, it was me, of course.”

“Of course,” Misha said, not because he actually agreed, but to placate Joshua. “I understand that you’d never want to show any disrespect for any of your Sponsors. But if you could tell me a little bit more about what you mean by unique. And know that you won’t be punished for anything you say right now. And remember—this is your household now. You’re home.”

Joshua nodded, deciding to trust Misha—a little bit. “Okay. Sponsor Klark felt it was best to sow a considerable amount of distrust and dislike among her males, to keep us—sharp,” Joshua said. 

“She turned you against each other,” Misha provided.

“Yes sir. And I should have been able to adjust to her preferences, and I tried. I just never managed to—get it right.” He flushed red, suddenly flooded with shame, and anger at himself. “I swear to you, I’ll do everything I can to avoid mistakes here. I’ll do everything I can to obey and to please Rowan, and you, and Jensen.”

“Thank you,” Misha said, sincerely. “And thank you for trusting me with that information. I should ask, did her methods include any physical alterations?”

“Do you mean scars, from beatings? I have a few. The normal amount.”

“I mean are you intact?”

“Oh,” Joshua said, understanding dawning. “Yes.”

Misha saw fear creeping into Joshua’s eyes. They’d both heard the stories, of Sponsors who chose to make eunuchs out of their males. Initially it had been done as an attempt to reduce male violence, but that was so many years ago. These days it was illegal unless a Sponsor had a court order, and uncommon, but still done, sometimes. For punishment or for a Sponsor’s pleasure, or whims, or both. “I assure you now, Rowan would never dream of doing anything of the sort. She speaks against it, publicly, as a matter of fact. And you won’t encounter Sponsor Klark’s other methods here either. Rowan wants nothing more than for us to understand exactly what is expected of us, and for us all to get along.”

Joshua nodded. Misha could tell he wasn’t totally convinced, but that was fine. Time would show him. “That’s what I want to tell you, about Rowan,” Misha went on. “She is an incredible Sponsor. I mean it when I say you are very fortunate to have landed here. I’m incredibly fortunate to have been with her all these years. Rowan’s first rule is that we should always know exactly what we’re being punished for. She’s committed to giving us the guidance and the discipline we need, but she does so lovingly, always with our best interests at heart. She treats us as individuals and carefully considers what is best for each of us. Rowan doesn’t play mind games—she doesn’t say one thing and mean another. Our duties and her expectations of us are clear. Your job now is to learn, and to obey. You don’t need to worry about trying to keep three steps ahead of us, trying to figure out some unwritten code you now have to learn—if we want you to do something, we’ll tell you. And when you do need to be disciplined, you’ll understand exactly why.”

Joshua nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best to live up to this—to the high standards Sponsor West apparently holds herself to.” 

“She does,” Misha said. “When was the last time you were disciplined?” 

“The night before last. I needed punishment for—for—failing to please my Lady.”

Joshua could tell Misha knew the truth—that Joshua didn’t know exactly why he had been punished. But Misha didn’t remark on it.

“I need to see your marks,” Misha said. “Just so I know what we’re dealing with.”

“Of course,” Joshua nodded, and before Misha needed to ask, he went to his knees and pulled off his shirt. “Would you like to see—“

“Everything, please,” Misha said. Joshua nodded and unbuttoned his jeans, shucking them down without any discernible hesitation. It wasn’t ever easy, to strip the first time for a new Handler, but Joshua wouldn’t show it. The trick was to just do it without thinking about it, at all. Misha came over to him. Joshua’s back was crossed from top to bottom with the thin parallel marks, beaded along the lengths, of the cat o’ nine tails. His buttocks was marked with the same, and while he wasn’t bleeding, his flesh was still abraded and raw. 

“Thank you,” Misha said. “You can get dressed. Rowan doesn’t use the cat.”

“I noticed that it wasn’t in the contract,” Joshua said, shrugging his shirt back on. 

“No. The whip is in your contract, though,” Misha said. “And publics. That’s what I meant, about Rowan considering what’s best for each of us. Jensen doesn’t get publics, or the whip, although we do—or might, I should say, if we earn them. That’s just one example, but you’ll see more as you start to adjust to our home.”

“Yes sir,” Joshua nodded shortly. He had a fear of the whip that was probably irrational, given Sponsor Klark’s affection for the cat. He had taken the cat often, and taken it well—or at least, he thought so. He had tried. He shouldn’t be so worried about the whip, shouldn’t dread it the way he did. He just didn’t seem to be able to help it. A weakness of his.

“And you’re a natural dominant?”

Joshua flushed with embarrassment. It was the one blemish on his record from school. He kept his eyes on Misha’s, though, avoiding the urge to look down in shame. “Yes sir. I’ve been trained to monitor my dominant impulses and to seek immediate correction for them. I make every effort to do that and I welcome the harsher discipline my traits require.”

To his surprise, Misha smiled softly. “It’s fine. I mean yes, you should do that, of course. But Rowan won’t have any trouble with you. Jensen’s a dominant too.”

Who was this woman? Joshua wondered. Some Sponsors wouldn’t take any dominants. Rowan had taken on two.

“I’ll start training you formally tomorrow,” Misha said. “Normally I would start with a paddling to learn your signs, but I don’t want to paddle you over that. We’ll see how it looks the next day. Until then, just know that if Rowan expects something of you, you’ll know it. And if you do somehow earn punishment before your training, you’ll know exactly why. And if you don’t, you are always allowed to say, ‘I don’t know why I’m being punished. Please explain it to me.’ Okay?”

Joshua nodded. 

After that, Misha quickly took Joshua through the same things he’d introduced Jensen to the household with—what exactly he should do when told to take position, the things Rowan would not tolerate: aggression and defiance, how important it was to her that they always understood what was expected of them and what they would be punished for. Finally, he called Jensen into the room. Jensen appeared quickly, his shirt and hair rumpled. It was clear to Joshua that he had just been serving Sponsor West with the Pleasure Arts. Misha frowned. 

“It could have waited—“

“She insisted,” Jensen said, his hands folded behind his back. 

“All right,” Misha said. “Jensen, please take position.”

“Yes sir,” said Jensen, going fluidly to his knees. 

“I was unclear. Please take punishment position.”

“—Yes sir.” Jensen’s eyes cut to Misha for one surprised moment. Joshua noted it. He was clearly struggling. Jensen stood and then unbuckled his jeans, sliding them down, his boxer briefs going down with them. He bent over the front of Misha’s desk, which put his ass in Joshua’s full view. His jaw flexed and Misha saw he was struggling, too. “Breathe, Jensen,” he said, and Jensen did, if rather forcefully.

“Joshua, please take position next to Jensen,” Misha said.

“Yes sir,” Joshua said, more submissive then Jensen was managing to be, and quickly took down his own jeans and underwear and bent over Misha’s desk, next to Jensen.

“Jensen, you have been rebellious in spirit today, haven’t you?”

Jensen let out a long sigh and said, rather grudgingly, “Yes sir. I have.”

“Then you need what I’m about to give you, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said.

“And Joshua needs it to, then. Because you two are equals now. What benefits one of you benefits the other. What hurts one of you hurts the other. You are both males to the same Sponsor, and as such, your well-being is inextricably entwined. Do you understand, boys?”

“Yes sir,” they both answered.

“Good. Ten on the bare. Ready now,” Misha said, touching Jensen’s back. Then he raised his hand and spanked Jensen, hard. From the corner of his eye, Joshua saw Jensen’s body rock forward. His fellow male grunted with the force of the spanking. Jensen let out a long sigh and hung his head. Then the spanking was over.

“Good. Joshua, I’m going to spank you now. Ten times, with my hand. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Joshua said. “Thank you.” This was an important moment. Misha would be making judgments on Joshua’s ability to submit, based on his performance. Joshua intended to give him no cause for concern. He held himself as still and as submitted in spirit as possible, keeping his breathing even. Misha—his new Handler—spanked him. Hard, but it was a spanking with his hand, incapable of being truly painful. His skin was tender from the recent session with the cat, but still—ten on the bare was nothing Joshua couldn’t handle. He held himself still after ten, waiting for more—a male should never assume his punishment was over, he should always wait to be told so. 

“Very good,” Misha said, however, after ten. “Thank you. You may pull your pants back on.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Joshua.

“Up now,” Misha said simply, tapping Jensen’s ass, and Jensen stood and pulled his boxers and pants back on as Joshua did the same.

“Thank you, sir,” He said. It was clear to Joshua from Jensen’s tone that he wasn’t submitted, not fully. He was curious to see what Misha would do. Misha watched Jensen a moment, and then decided not to pursue it further. “Jensen,” Misha said. “Joshua’s rank is higher than yours, and so eventually you will be required to submit to him. But not for the first three months,” he said, looking at Joshua and then back to Jensen. “After three months Rowan and I will make a decision regarding how we’ll go forward. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Joshua and Jensen replied, in accidental unison.

“Good. You may return to Rowan. Go and obey,” he said meaningfully. ‘Go and obey’ were the parting words males said to one another in polite company, but it was clear Misha meant them as more than just a formality now. Jensen seemed to register that. He took a deep breath.

“Yes sir. I will.”

 

If Joshua had been in charge, he wouldn’t have spanked Jensen. It was common for males to have a territorial reaction to a new male in the house, especially when they had only been there a few months, as Jensen had. The better thing would have been for Misha to have Joshua himself beaten in front of Jensen. This would ease the anxiety and threatened feelings Jensen was clearly having, and allow Jensen to establish himself as the dominant in the household, over Joshua anyway. It would have hurt, over the wounds he had from the cat ‘o nine tails, but Joshua certainly could have taken 30 with the belt or even 40 with the paddle without serious injury, and it would have done a world of good for Jensen to see it. Males new to a household should be kept spanked and paddled almost constantly, anyway. It eroded their defenses and helped them bond to a new household much more quickly. However, what he would have done didn’t matter now. He wasn’t the Handler, Misha was, and Joshua’s job was to submit. He had every intention of doing so.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen serves Rowan, there is trouble with the Males.

“Jensen,” Rowan said softly. “Will you attend to me?”

“Of course,” Jensen replied. It was the day after Christmas. The early darkness was falling, and Jensen had spent the day figuring out his new guitar and relaxing with Rowan while Misha put Joshua through his training. Now Rowan was looking at Jensen with heat in her eyes, and he knew exactly what she wanted.

Rowan went upstairs. Jensen went to the kitchen to prepare a tray of things she might want. After some thought, he went with water, red wine, a selection of fruit, cheese, and cured meats, an some chocolate truffles. In the other room he could hear Misha giving Joshua the same instructions he’d given him when he was new. He wondered if the job was hard on Misha. Part of him wanted to linger, to eavesdrop, but it was an honor to be asked to attend on Rowan. As soon as the tray was ready, he took it upstairs. Misha didn’t look at him as he passed.

Rowan was in her receiving room, which was attached to her bedroom, sitting on the couch in her oriental silk bathrobe. A Christmas movie, and old one in black and white, was playing on the TV. “Oh, thank you,” she sighed happily when Jensen set the tray down. She picked up the glass of red wine and handed another to Jensen. “Cheers.” They clinked glasses. Jensen sipped his wine, smiling at her over the top of it with his eyes, then went to draw her a bath. He wiped down the tub, even though it looked spotless already, and ran the water hot, monitoring the temperature and adding rose oil and vanilla scented sea salts. When it was ready, he took her hand and guided her gently to the bathroom.

“Here,” he said, and took her drink ,set it on the counter. Then he helped her out of her robe, hung it on a hook, and held her hand as she stepped into the tub. She sighed, moaned almost, at the pleasure of the hot water and the bubbles.

“Wine?” he asked.

“Please,” she said. “You coming in?”

Jensen lowered himself into the tub, holding his own drink. The sound of Joshua being paddled—smack-smack—smack—reached their ears. Rowan breathed in deeply. Jensen was about to tell the sound system to play some music when Rowan’s pelvis shifted and he looked at her eyes.

Ah.

He went quiet, so she could listen to the paddling. Eventually the noise subsided. After they got out of the bath, Jensen helped Rowan into her robe. Then it seemed right to kneel, so he did. Sank to the ground at her feet in perfect attending form, while she picked up her phone and sent a message to Misha’s handler’s keeper. Jensen waited with his head bowed gently until she spoke softly.

“Jensen? You’re not in any trouble. Would you take a paddling for me?”

“Of course,” Jensen said, and meant it. “I’d be honored to do that for you.” He was rewarded with Rowan’s warm smile, her hand at his temple. 

“Thank you. Misha’s on his way up.” Jensen saw the shimmer in her eyes. He knew the sound of Joshua being paddled had aroused her. He went as subservient as he could. He allowed her to stroke his face and run her fingers through his hair while waiting passively. He turned his face up to her, his eyes only showing a flicker of lust.

It was just a moment before Misha entered.

“How’s he doing?” Rowan said.

“Very well,” was Misha’s only reply. From the corner of his eye, Jensen saw that Misha was only wearing a black V-neck t-shirt and black briefs. Misha approached Jensen with a collar and a lead. Jensen waited for Misha to fasten the collar around his neck and give him direction, but at the last moment, Rowan spoke.

“No collar tonight. The beautiful thing about Jensen is how naturally he submits.” Misha nodded. Jensen bowed his head. Rowan wanted him deeply submissive, that was what she was going to get.

“All right. Up, Jensen,” Misha said.

“Yes sir,” Jensen said quietly. He rocked back on his toes and stood gracefully, fully naked.

“Turn,” Misha said, guiding him gently, and Jensen did. He could see Rowan in the reflection of the mirror he faced. She took her wine goblet and sunk into a chair as Misha removed a bottle of body oil from the vanity. He squeezed it onto his hands and began to oil Jensen’s back, using his palms to smooth the oil over his shoulders, working down. Jensen stood with his arms at his sides and his gaze lowered. Misha worked his way down to Jensen’s ass, where he let his hands linger. He cupped Jensen’s buttocks in his hands and squeezed. He ran his fingers inside Jensen’s crack, oiling deeply. Rowan moaned. Misha spread Jensen’s buttocks and lubed his hole, squirting the oil in. Jensen leaned forward slightly to allow Misha better access. Misha caressed him again, then stood and spanked him. He oiled Jensen’s thighs and spanked him again, once on each cheek. It made a loud smack. Jensen’s skin quivered.

“Oh god,” Rowan said. “Bend him over.” Misha put pressure on Jensen’s shoulder, but Jensen was already bending. He braced himself against the vanity, warm and shimmering with the oil, and Misha began to spank him, standing as far to one side as possible, to allow Rowan a better view.

“What’s happening, Jensen?” Misha said.

“I’m getting a good spanking,” Jensen said. “I’m being spanked.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to be spanked, sir,” Jensen said without hesitation. “I’m getting my bottom spanked because that’s what I need. Please spank my butt, Misha. Spank my butt hard.” He was going off pure instinct. He was rewarded by Rowan’s long, aroused moan.

“Thank you for my spanking,” Jensen went on. “Thank you for spanking my butt, sir. I need my butt spanked hard.”

“Jesus, Jensen,” Rowan said, but both men understood she was not at all displeased. “The paddle.”

“You’re going to take a paddling now, aren’t you Jensen?” Misha said.

“Yes sir,” Jensen answered. Misha had not stopped spanking. “I need to get my butt paddled. I need you to paddle my butt. I’m getting my butt spanked hard, and I need to get paddled.”

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

“I need you to make me bend over,” Jensen said, still taking the spanking, his body rocking with each blow. “Naked. I need to you please take that paddle and use it to beat my butt. I need my ass paddled so bad, Misha. Please get it and paddle me on my ass. Beat my bottom hard until I cry. I’m getting spanked and I’m going to get my butt paddled hard.”

“Fuck,” Rowan said. “Oh god—Misha—“

“Come here,” Misha commanded. Jensen went straight to the bed. Somehow by the time he was there, the paddle was already in Misha’s hand.

“Please paddle my butt,” Jensen said. Misha did. “Oh, I’m getting my butt paddled now, Row. I’m getting paddled hard. Misha’s punishing my butt so hard.”

“Jesus,” Rowan said again, and then Jensen felt her hands on his hot, red ass. A brief pause in the paddling as she caressed his ass.

“I’m getting my butt paddled, ma’am,” Jensen said.

“You’re going to make me come just talking,” Rowan said. 

“Ma’am,” Jensen said. Misha paddled him, and then Rowan pressed her face into his red ass. “If you get beneath me, I can hold myself over you. I can make you come while you enjoy my discipline. I need this discipline,” he said.

“How—“

“Here.” He pushed himself up on all fours. “Slide beneath me. I promise I’ll hold myself while I get my paddling. No honey—other way.”

“Oh,” Rowan giggled. “Oh my god.” She slid beneath him so that her thighs opened just below his face, and her own face was just below his ass. “Oh, fuck, Jensen.”

Her obvious pleasure was a reward to Jensen, and a confirmation that is instincts were good. It was easy to please Rowan, so easy that he had begun to consider that maybe all his many mistakes in Harris household weren’t due to some failing in his own abilities. “Keep paddling my butt,” Jensen said. “Please, sir. I need to get my ass paddled. I need it punished.” Then he bent his head and began to kiss and lick Rowan’s opening, circling around her clit. 

“Holy fuck,” Rowan said. “Holy fuck.” 

She wasn’t going to last long. He felt her hands roaming across the hot flesh of his ass.

“Oh ma’am, I need my butt punished so bad. I’m getting such a hard paddling right now. Do you want me to draw it out?” 

“No,” she said. She licked at the outer curves of his crack, pressed her face into his hot skin. She spanked him. Misha paddled him. He worked his tongue around her clit, pulling back only momentarily to tell her how badly he needed his butt paddled. It was moments before Rowan was panting, then screaming out, bucking her hips into his face. In the last moments, Misha stopped paddling so Jensen could hold still, focus, as she came. She came hard. She gasped and shuddered. Jensen lapped up her wetness. She squeezed her fingers into his punished ass. 

“Oh my god,” she sighed. “Oh my god, Jensen.” She rubbed his ass soothingly. He held himself above her, leaving her clit, knowing it would be sensitive right now, just after her orgasm. “You are so incredible. You’re so good at what you do.”

After a few moments, Misha left, and Rowan allowed Jensen an orgasm. But that was just icing on the cake. He was already filled head to toe with pleasure.

******

 

“Is there anything I need to know for Penitence Day?” Jensen asked Misha.

They were in the kitchen, a cold snowy morning in January. Joshua was working out, but Misha and Jensen were having coffee first, as was their habit. Rowan was still asleep upstairs. Misha turned from the French press with a steaming mug for Jensen and brought it to him at the counter.

“I’ve been meaning to mention that to you,” Misha said. It was going to be Jensen’s first Penitence Day with Rowan. “We do observe it here. But Rowan uses only the minimum requirements.”

Jensen raised his eyebrows at that. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as minimum requirements for Penitence,” he said, stirring heavy whipping cream into his coffee. It was an indulgence of his that he hadn’t been allowed at Banks household. Joanna had said it would make him fat. When she wasn’t telling him he didn’t belong there and never would. Misha put it out every morning without comment. 

Misha sat down at the counter across from Jensen, blowing on his coffee--with regular half and half. “The minimum by law is a fast from dawn to dusk, 10 with the strap at dawn, 30 at noon, an hour before sunset on the rice. She might use a figg, or soap, but she’s never really done more than that. What was Penitence Day like in Banks household?”

Jensen puffed air out between his lips. “I don’t really remember.”

Misha frowned at that, pained, as always, to hear about the abuse in Jensen’s past. Before he could say more, Joshua entered, fresh from his workout. 

“Good morning,” he said, still flushed and panting.

“Morning,” Jensen and Misha said together. “I’ll get you a coffee,” Jensen said, standing.

“It’s all right, I can—“

Jensen waved him off. “Sit down.” 

Joshua did, taking a place next to Misha. “What was Penitence Day like in your former household?” Misha asked him. 

Penitence Day happened every year on January 13th, the anniversary of the day the New Order of United Women had put to death every man who had murdered, raped, or abused any woman or child. It was observed to remember that day and to remind males why they now lived in subservience to female Sponsors. It was a day to atone for the horrors their gender had suffered upon the world. The minimum requirements were rather low, in Misha’s estimation, when you began to examine the scope of all that.

“Sponsor Klark left me out of the usual Penitence Day routine,” Joshua said. “The other males would be beaten but she’d only have me watch. It was her way of—“

“Breeding resentment,” Misha finished for him. “Rowan will treat us all equally.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joshua said as Jensen set a mug of coffee on the counter before him. “Thanks,” Joshua said, his eyes darting up to meet Jensen’s, and as the two made eye contact, a ripple went through the room. Misha saw a muscle in Jensen’s jaw pump with tension before Jensen forced himself to look away from Joshua and sit down. Misha knew something was happening, but he didn’t know what. Joshua lowered his eyes and spoke in a low voice.

“I will submit to anything from you if that’s what you need to accept this.”

“What?” Misha said. “What are you—Jensen, what’s going on?”

“I should go,” Joshua said, standing and quickly exiting the room.

Jensen met Misha’s eyes, breathing hard, obviously trying to contain himself. He was angry, that much was clear. Then it dawned on Misha, just a second before Jensen spoke it. Of course.

“He pleasured Rowan last night. I could see it in his face.”

“That is none of your business,” Misha said sharply.

“As her pleasure slave I should have been informed—“

“You are not serving her in that capacity, Jensen.”

Jensen pressed on, ignoring the warning in Misha’s voice. “But it still effects me, I still should have been informed. I mean, I’m a pleasure slave and I wasn’t allowed to pleasure Rowan for MONTHS. And he’s been here two weeks, and he—“

“Go get the strap, Jensen.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said like he had been expecting it, and standing. His energy didn’t shift, he kept right up with the angry ranting. “And he’s invited into her chambers? Already?” He continued on as he went down the hall to Misha’s office, took the heavy strap out of the chest, and returned. “He’s not even trained in the Pleasure arts. He’s a HANDLER,” Jensen said, unbuttoning his jeans and bending over the counter, sliding his boxers down. “You should have let me know. FUCK,” he said, as the strap slammed heavily into his ass, cracking across his skin. Misha had used his full strength.

“You are way over the line, Jensen,” Misha said. “Open,” he commanded. Letting out a heavy sigh, Jensen reached back and parted his cheeks. Misha drove a thick figg of peeled ginger into his hole. It spread Jensen open to a painful degree and the burn was immediate, increasing his discomfort. “Are you really going to question your Sponsor’s decisions? Rowan’s decisions? That is beyond disrespectful. It’s betrayal. It’s mutiny.” Jensen didn’t respond. “Stay here,” Misha said. “Don’t move.” When he didn’t get a ‘yes sir’ he lifted the strap high and slammed it again, with all his might, into Jensen’s ass.

“Mmm!” Jensen grunted. “Yes, sir.”

Misha went to the intercom and buzzed Joshua’s room.

“Yes sir?”

“Come down here please, Joshua.”

The briefest pause, and then Joshua answered. “Yes sir.”

Misha watched Jensen as he waited for Joshua. He understood that Jensen was having a hard time adjusting, but the things he had just said were way beyond the pale. The two men waited in silence until Joshua appeared from upstairs. He folded his hands behind him and kept his gaze lowered. Joshua had been making every effort to show his obedience over the last two weeks, that much was clear to Misha, and he appreciated it. 

“Jensen needs to be strapped,” Misha said. “And I want you to do it.”

For the first time in arriving in the household, Joshua looked like he was going to disobey Misha. He looked at Jensen with a pained glance, then back at Misha.

“Are you actually going to disobey me right now?” Misha said in a low voice.

“No. No sir,” Joshua said, shaking off whatever hesitation he was feeling and taking the strap from Misha. He walked around the counter, behind Jensen. Taking in Jensen’s naked ass, the thick plug in it. A muscle in Jensen’s ass rippled, quivered, reminding Joshua of a horse’s flank. 

“What do you need to be strapped for, Jensen?” Misha said. Joshua looked down at Jensen. He was shaking, and Joshua knew it wasn’t with fear. Jensen was furious. Dangerously furious. Deciding that he no longer had any choice but to try to subdue the man for his own good, Joshua stepped forward, grabbing the end of the plug and forcing it deeper into Jensen’s ass, twisting. He shouldn’t be the one punishing Jensen, not right now. But he didn’t have a choice, and the best he could do for Jensen now was to force him to submit before he got himself into further trouble. “What do you need to be strapped for?” Joshua growled. Hoping it would be enough.

Jensen didn’t answer. Joshua hadn’t been in the household long, but it was long enough to know how unusual this behavior was for Jensen, who was usually obedient and good. With pain in his eyes Joshua looked up at Misha. He didn’t want to disobey. But his training just wouldn’t let him move forward like this. If a male in his care earned himself extra punishment on his watch, that was on Joshua’s head. “He needs to be subdued before he can be punished. Or he’s only going to get himself into more trouble.” He desperately hoped Misha would take the steps to subdue Jensen himself. It occurred to Joshua that it would be better for his relationship with Jensen if he were to deliberately disobey Misha right now, and earn himself punishment right alongside Jensen. But he was so new, he was afraid of jeopardizing his position in the household. Misha hadn’t said anything about a probationary period, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t ask to have Joshua removed for failure to obey, this early on.

“You’re right,” Misha nodded. Joshua gave the man credit. A lot of males would have been threatened by what Joshua had just done, would have made a point of proving him wrong to protect their own egos. Misha was stronger than that. He stepped forward and took the strap back from Joshua. “I’ll have to get Rowan.”

With that, something seemed to go out of Jensen. His muscles all went limp and his energy changed. “I—“ he said, and then closed his mouth. Of course Jensen wouldn’t want to involve Rowan, Joshua knew. 

“What is it, Jensen?” Misha said.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen said. “You’re right. I’m way out of line. Please punish me, Misha. Severely.”

“You need a beating,” Misha said. Jensen probably, technically, deserved more than that. He had questioned his sponsor’s conduct of her own sexuality, which was one of the highest offenses a Male could commit. If it had been anyone other than Jensen, Misha probably would have locked him in a room and notified Rowan immediately. Knowing Jensen deserved more than just a beating, Misha steeled himself. “And Joshua is going to give it to you.”

When Jensen said nothing—no “yes sir”—Joshua turned to Misha and said, rather desperately, “Punish me too. He wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me. I accept responsibility—“

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Misha said, at the same moment Jensen growled:

“I don’t need you to take my punishments for me.”

“Of course you don’t,” Joshua said, still hoping there was someway to de-escalate the situation. But now Misha leaned forward, pressing his forearm into the back of Jensen’s neck, turning the plug in his ass. Joshua watched as Jensen’s entire body went rigid and then something seemed to snap inside him. Rather than submitting himself to Misha, Jensen bucked, and stood, throwing Misha off him, spinning wildly and grabbing Misha around the waist, taking him down to the hard kitchen floor. Misha let out a surprised cry and then the two of them were scuffling on the floor. Joshua couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This kind of thing could get males banned from household service for life. He felt responsible. He grabbed Jensen around the waist and tried to drag him off Misha. Jensen’s elbow went up hard into Joshua’s nose and pain shot through his face but Joshua kept pulling on him—and then Jensen was off Misha and instead falling onto Joshua, Joshua on his back somehow, and Jensen raising a fist. Misha threw himself onto Jensen’s back, one arm around Jensen’s neck, attempting a chokehold. But Jensen didn’t seem to feel it.

“Don’t do this, man,” Joshua said. But Jensen’s eyes were wild.

“You don’t belong here,” Jensen said, and he drove his fist into Joshua’s jaw. It wasn’t the blow, but the words that caused Joshua to lose his cool. He raised his own fist and drove it up into Jensen’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. In the moment when Jensen buckled, Misha drew back his hand and slapped Joshua across the face.

Before Joshua could react, Before Jensen could collect himself to raise his fist again, there was a loud buzzing, and Jensen jerked violently as if he were having a seizure, and collapsed on top of Joshua. Confusion and panic swept over Joshua. He didn’t know what was happening. There was a glimpse of Rowan and then a sudden sharp pain in his own upper thigh that vibrated electrically throughout his body, and then everything went black.


	17. A Punishment at Gen's

Jensen awoke face down on the floor. He held very still, trying to remember where he was. His hands were tied behind his back, his pants were still around his knees and something was pricking the entire length of his body. Rice, he realized. He was laying on the kitchen floor on the rice. He recognized Joshua lying next to him, his head turned away from Jensen, his hands also tied together at the small of his back. No way to know if Joshua was conscious. Jensen blinked, uncertain for a moment as to why he was on the floor—a blessed moment, before remembrance slammed back into him and he let out a tiny moan, remembering his actions. He could hear Misha breathing behind him, but couldn’t see him. The rice was pricking uncomfortably into his pelvic area but he didn’t move or try to shift away from it. He deserved it. He waited, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It was like waking up in a nightmare. How could he have done what he did? And where was Rowan? He thought he felt her presence, but he couldn’t be sure. Jensen waited, letting the rice bite his body, making himself feel it.

After awhile—an eternity--Rowan’s voice came from just ahead of him. He could hear her but not see her. “You’ve been tased,” she said, her voice hard. “I had to tase all three of you to take you out.” Jensen burned with shame. “Because I came downstairs and found you –all of you—engaged in aggressive violence.”

“Ma’am—“ Misha started.

“Shut up,” Rowan said. Something Jensen had never heard her say before. “Get to your knees. All three of you.”

It was awkward, but Jensen managed to get to his knees, first rolling onto his side and pushing himself up from there, Misha and Joshua on either side of him struggling to do the same. When he was finally on his knees, on the rice, in submissive position, he raised his gaze to Rowan’s face and immediately wished he hadn’t. The way Rowan was looking at Jensen was enough to break him, her eyes ravaged and raw. It made him want to fall back to the floor and sob, beg. But he had done that to her before, and he wouldn’t do it again. It would demand too much of her. He would be silent and submit to whatever punishment she would mete out. He would be obedient and silent, for days and days, until it was over. Or until she asked him to leave.

Next to him, Misha was trembling. Joshua was swaying, as if he might faint. Jensen didn’t know what he would do if Joshua fainted. 

“The only reason,” Rowan finally spoke. “The ONLY reason I’m not calling in the Guard is because it would leave a permanent mark on your records. It would risk you being taken from me because of my failure to suppress violence in my own males. And I don’t want you taken from me before I’ve had a chance to discipline you for this to the fullest extent our contracts allow. And I am going to be merciful and honor your contracts. Thank me for that.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jensen said quickly. Misha and Joshua’s voices echoed his own.

“I can’t deal with you three right now. Because I feel unsafe. Do you understand that, Misha? Look at me. Your actions have given me reason to doubt that you will protect me. That you won’t break your own oaths.”

Misha made a sound like he’d been punched. 

“You’ve put me in a place where I can’t trust my First Handler to do what you are sworn to do. Ten years serving in my house, and I can’t trust you.”

Misha opened his mouth, shook his head. No sound came out.

“Don’t move,” she said. “I’m going to call Gen. Jared will command you and you will submit yourselves perfectly to them. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said with his fellow males. He wanted to look to them for comfort, for support, for punishment. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t believe they’d failed Rowan this badly, again, after everything he and Misha had already put her through. 

Jensen expected Rowan to return after she made the phone call, but as enough time passed, and then more than enough, he realized she wasn’t going to. The house was silent. She’d gone into her office to make the phone call and left them kneeling in the kitchen. Misha’s presence was normally a comfort to him--a promise that Jensen was going to be punished and forgiven for the thing he’d done, and that he was going to be supported through the punishment, however terrible. But neither Misha nor Joshua could offer him any solace now, and he could offer none to them. For some reason, he thought of Joanna. He could imagine what she might put him through, for this offense, but he had no idea how Rowan would make them atone. He didn’t think she had it in her, to give them the severe punishments they deserved. He wondered if he’d be sent back to Joanna. It occurred to him that such a fate was the only truly just punishment he could be given. He wasn’t worthy of Rowan, he shouldn’t be allowed to remain in her presence. He felt shaky and swayed a little. Next to him Misha drew in a breath, audible, slow and deep, then let it out. Reminding Jensen to breathe. It was the only support his Handler could give.

When there was a knock on the door, they all knew who it was. Knowing, however, didn’t make it any easier. Jensen had suffered some true humiliation in his life as a male, but not much that compared to having Gen and Jared enter his own home and find him like this, in utter disgrace, on his knees between his Handler and his Third. It would be defiant to raise his eyes so Jensen only heard them enter. Though Gen kissed Rowan on both cheeks, Jared only uttered a subdued “ma’am.” It wouldn’t have been appropriate for him to say much else, due to the somber occasion. It hurt Jensen to know that his actions had even affected Jared.  
“It would be Jared’s honor to stay and serve you,” Gen said quietly, and Jensen’s humiliation was complete. His eyes watered. Never in his life had he experienced anything so debasing as to hear another male being offered to provide Rowan what he, what they, had failed. It was like having another man offer to give your wife an orgasm, when you couldn’t. In the days when men still had wives. 

He told himself that he wanted Rowan to accept, because he wanted what was best for her and Rowan might need comfort. Jared, at least, could provide that even if her own three males couldn’t. Still, he couldn’t help being relieved when Rowan said gently, “Thank you. I really appreciate that. I think I’d like to be alone for awhile. And these males have so disgraced their training,” she began. Another punch in the gut. Never had Jensen heard Rowan refer to him with the derogatory ‘these males’. “That I’d feel better knowing Jared is with you. I wish I could promise you they’d behave themselves, but after this, I just don’t know.”

Joshua swayed on his knees. Jensen squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. He deserved this. Did that make it better or worse?

There was a slight pause. Then Gen said, “Ro--I’m sorry to ask--do they need to be collared?”

Jensen sucked in air. Almost silently, but not quite. He waited to see if punishment would come for this nearly silent protest, but it didn’t.

“Yes,” Rowan said, and Jensen could hear exactly how hard it was for her to say that. “I’m sorry, I should have thought myself. I can’t tell you it isn’t necessary.”  
Jensen was afraid he would vomit, waiting while Rowan went into her office to get the collars, Gen and Jared behind him, behind all of them, the dishonored West Males, watching. At least Misha and Joshua were fully clothed, Jensen’s jeans and underwear were piled on the floor around his knees, leaving him exposed. He could feel Misha beside him, going to stone, and wished he could do the same. He could hear Rowan rummaging in the closet for the collars. She had never used them on Jensen or Joshua, and he was certain she’d never used one on Misha, in all their years together. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed it to come to this. Rowan came back into the room, holding two boxes. The collars were still in the boxes they’d been sent in. She was required by law to hold them but had probably never imagined she’d have to use them. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. He started crying. He made a tremendous effort to stop, but he couldn’t. The tears welled heavily in his eyes.

Rowan stepped toward Misha. She didn’t speak. Misha raised his chin and bore it with a stony dignity as she placed the silver collar around his neck and it clicked together. Jensen was unable to stop crying and he wondered if he would be punished for it. He couldn’t help but hope that she would be tender with him the way she usually was when he cried, telling him he was doing well. But she didn’t. She ignored the tears altogether, fastening the collar around his neck and moving on immediately. It was the worst possible reaction. Jensen shuddered in a few breaths, trying to get ahold of himself. No one offered correction or comfort.  
The collar was snapped around Joshua’s neck, who at least didn’t cry, and then Rowan handed the controller to Gen. “Do you know how to--?”

“Yeah. Shock, stun, and disarm. Shock is a warning. Stun will knock them out. I won’t do anything if I don’t have to.”

“I know,” said Rowan. “I trust you completely.” She wasn’t happy. The collars were a disgrace to the men, and reflected poorly on her as well. Not all Handlers would see it that way but Jensen knew Rowan did. 

“Let’s get them out of here,” Gen said to Jared. “Rowan needs to rest.”

Jensen waited for Rowan to tell them she expected their perfect obedience. For some word from her, any at all. But there was none. Rowan hugged Gen and then Gen said simply “Up. In the car.”

“Jared, get Jensen’s pants back on him,” Rowan said, and Jensen flushed deep red and hot as Jared came and bent, pulling Jensen’s boxer briefs and his jeans back up, buttoning them for him, his manner brusque. By the time it was over and Jensen turned to follow Jared, Rowan was already gone. 

The drive to Gen’s house passed too quickly. Jensen had stopped crying the moment Rowan had turned her back on them--it was so cold, and so unlike her. Rowan made efforts to support them through any punishment, even when she was mad, even when they had hurt her, she would try to reassure them during their discipline. Her lack of any concern had been chilling. 

They pulled into the garage and filed into the house silently, trying to show that they would submit to Gen--tiny Gen, with not one but now four males in her household. Jensen expected her to pass them off to Jared, have him take command as a Handler. But instead, she spoke to him almost the moment they were in the door. 

“Jared, in submission immediately please.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jared said. He moved quickly, fluidly, straight to the table where he slid his jeans down and braced his hands against the table, bending over. Jensen realized he had never seen Gen put Jared in submission before. Jared moved with perfect obedience. It was effective--the men immediately understood Gen could command them.

“You three follow me. Don’t answer that. Don’t speak at all until I ask you to directly.” Jensen opened his mouth to say ‘yes ma’am’ but then, understanding her orders, clamped it shut. Gen went through the kitchen, opened the door to the laundry chambers, and there was a door in that room Jensen had never seen. His stomach clenched. He hated himself for being afraid of whatever punishment he was about to take, as he knew he deserved all of it and more. He glanced at Misha instinctively looking for comfort, but Misha’s eyes were fixed stonily ahead. Jensen felt bad for even looking, tempting his Handler to provide him with comfort they all knew he didn’t deserve. He was aware that Misha had probably never angered Rowan so terribly in the many years he’d served her before Joshua and Jensen himself had arrived. He followed Misha and Gen down the stairs.

It wasn’t a torture chamber, exactly. It was a rather utilitarian basement, with cold concrete floors, a work bench over in a corner, some dusty old tools. But Jensen’s attention went immediately to the right side of the room, where there stood four iron-barred cells. Like prison cells almost exactly. Each shared a wall of bars with the cell next to it. Each had a small cot, a sink on the wall, and, to Jensen’s dismay, a toilet. Jensen was shocked to see them. He wondered if Rowan had a similar set-up hidden in her house. Probably the two Sponsors had never imagined their own males would need to know about them. He knew he should be grateful for the fact that Rowan and Gen were so like-minded and so close that they were able to handle Jensen, Misha and Joshua’s extreme transgression this way. Any other Sponsor would have called in the Guard by now, he knew that. He wasn’t stupid.

“In,” Gen said simply. They filed in in order. Misha in the farthest cell, Jensen in the middle, Joshua in the end. Jensen kept his head down and turned to face Gen, awaiting further instructions. 

“I’m not going to punish you,” Gen said. “That would suggest that you were beginning to atone for what you’ve done, and you can’t. You can’t atone for that, now or ever. I’m only going to manage you. In the corners behind your cots you’ll each find a bucket of rice. Remove your pants and kneel on it. Silently, until Jared or I comes to relieve you. Get used to the rice and the silence. It’s going to be a while.”

Unable to even show his obedience with a yes ma’am, Jensen’s stomach clenched with humiliation as he did as Gen said, first shucking off his jeans and laying them neatly on the bed before spreading the rice in the center of the room, on the hard floor, and kneeling. It took him and his fellow males less than a minute. Once they were all in position, Gen simply turned and left, closing the door behind her. 

Hours passed and Jensen fell into a kind of trance. They didn’t dare speak to each other, didn’t even think of it, but as time wore on he could hear Misha and Joshua occasionally taking deep breaths, grunting, panting. It was immensely painful and there was nothing to take their minds off the pain. Each was alone in the chamber with what he had done--Gen’s point, Jensen figured. He wanted to weep. He couldn’t decide if it would be frowned upon or not. Misha had told him he’d never be punished further for crying, that it was always alright to cry during a punishment, but this didn’t seem like any other punishment session--in fact, Gen had told him it wasn’t--and he figured now he needed to suck it up and suffer in silence. So he did. For hours and hours, shaking and sweating on the rice, tears pricking at his eyes, he did.

After three hours, maybe four, the door opened. It took everything Jensen had not to look and see who was coming. He adjusted his posture, wishing it wasn’t necessary, wishing he’d held himself perfectly the entire time. But he was swaying on the rice. It took a tremendous effort not to collapse sideways or pitch forward. Heavy footsteps down the stairs, and then Jared was in the room.

“Stand up slowly and sit on your cots,” he said. 

Jensen placed his hands on the concrete to steady himself and tried to rise slowly to a stand. Grains of rice stuck to his knees, seemingly embedded there, and blackness swam before his eyes. He pitched toward his cot rather quickly, faster than he’d wanted to, and waited, wondering if he’d be punished for it. But it seemed his options were either that or faint. “Put your head between your knees, Jensen,” Jared said, and Jensen thought Jared meant to strap his back but then he understood that Jared had seen he was close to fainting. He did as he was told. They waited silently.

“Sit up slowly.”

Jensen raised his head. He could see Joshua’s shoulders, somewhat slumped, through the bars in front of him. Misha could see his back. No one could see each others faces. “Rest for a few minutes, then clean up the rice--it goes back in the bucket--and get a drink. Then you can rest for a few hours. I don’t know how long.” Jensen could tell Jared was working to keep the strength in his voice. “Maintain silence,” he said, and departed. Jensen took some deep breaths and would have taken more, but he heard Misha move behind him and decided to follow his Handler’s suit. He stood and scooped up the rice in his hands, having no other tool to use. Next to him, Joshua did the same. They didn’t make eye contact. When they were done, they lay on their cots and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Jared collected their clothes to be washed, leaving them with new ones. T-shirts and scrub style pants--uniforms for unclaimed slaves. Jensen knew exactly what they were, what they signified, though he doubted the other two did. Misha and Joshua had always belonged to one house or another, they had never spent any time in the Halls of the Unclaimed, let alone the Pens. The days were spent on their knees, on the rice, three hours on, an hour off to eat simple food--potatoes, apples, beans and rice--then three hours back on, with regularity. Gen every day reminding them that she was not punishing them, just keeping the in the uncomfortable positions they surely deserved. 

It was the third day when Jensen finally broke down crying and couldn’t stop. Still ordered to silence, the men on either side of him said nothing. Humiliated, Jensen curled his face into his pillow and choked out gasps. Cried out, he fell asleep. That night, he dreamed that he was in a room like a Guard interrogation cell. A door opened and through it came not a Guardswoman, but Joanna. She was smiling darkly and carrying a collar made of heavy chain. She walked toward him to put the collar around Jensen’s neck and claim him, take him back to her household and keep him there forever. As Jensen tried to press away, he realized that one of the walls was made of glass, and on the other side of the glass was Rowan. She was laughing and talking to someone he couldn’t see. He threw himself against the glass, pounding on it, begging Rowan to help him. But she couldn’t hear him or see him. As Joanna drew closer, Jensen tried more wildly to get Rowan’s attention, but she was deaf to his pleas—laughing now with another Male, he saw. Then Jensen lost his voice and couldn’t cry for help and couldn’t run, couldn’t make his limbs work, as Joanna came toward him with her collar—

\--he woke up with a start, the blackness of Gen’s basement and silence around him.

On the seventh day, Gen walked in toward the end of their lunch hour--all three of them were sitting on the cots, resting before their next stint on the rice--and said, “Attend.”

Jensen hadn’t heard that command in a long time--it was a slave’s command--but still obeyed swiftly, falling to one knee with his hands folded behind his back and his head down. It took Joshua and Misha a moment to imitate him and he realized the command was foreign to them. They’d probably heard it only once or twice, in training, years ago. 

“You may resume yes and no ma’ams. Try it now.”

It took them all a moment. “Yes ma’am,” Jensen managed, his voice cracking with disuse. It was an utter relief just to hear the men on either side of him speak. 

“I’m taking you upstairs,” she said. “You won’t speak. I’ll command you to attend and that’s all you will do. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” they all said together. Jensen took deep breaths and forced himself to stop shaking. He would be whipped, he told himself. He was probably about to be whipped, and he was going to have to get himself through it. 

Gen pressed a button and the cell doors swung open. They went up the stairs, blinking in the bright daylight of the laundry room. It had been dim in the basement. She lead them through the kitchen into the living room and it was there that Jensen saw the reason for her strict orders: Rowan.

Rowan was there. Jensen caught one swift glance of her. She was sitting at the table with her hands folded in front of her. Wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, with her hair back. She looked tired. It pained him to see it, she looked drawn and too thin. All this he garnered in the second or two before Gen said, calmly, “Attend,” and Jensen dropped to one knee and lowered his gaze. His gut clenched and unclenched. Rowan wasn’t well. She needed looking after. His actions had put her in this place.

She could be about to disown them. 

Jensen was shaking. 

“I’m going to speak,” Rowan said, “but you are to keep total silence.” She paused. “I took seven days to think about your actions. I spent the first twelve hours after you left certain I’d made a mistake and that I should have called in the Guard after all. I was about to, actually. A phone call from Gen was the only thing that made me reconsider. I don’t know if you realize, but in not doing what I should have done, I’ve sacrificed my own honor. I’m a level 7 sponsor and that status stays with me no matter who my males are. I have a lot to lose. Your actions could have made me lose it. They still could. “ Rowan stopped to let that sink in. Trembling, Jensen stared at the ground, forcing himself to stay in position, not to look. “You don’t deserve to be taken back. None of you.” Her voice was hard and Jensen nodded. He began to breathe deeply and send himself away. She was going to disown them and he needed to prepare for the pens. He needed to prepare for getting Misha--and Joshua, for that matter--through the pens. He’d probably be punished but nothing Rowan could give him would even come close to what he would suffer in the pens.

“Jensen,” Rowan snapped, sharply, and he raised his eyes to hers. It was harrowing. She was miserable. There was none of the compassion there she usually directed at him during punishments. “Don’t you dare go away. You stay here. Damnit, you owe me that.”

Jensen was forbidden to speak so he forced himself back into his body, back into his eyes, making them soft and obedient and holding her gaze for a second before looking back down. Rowan took a deep breath, clearly shaken. “You don’t deserve to be taken back. I’m taking you all back anyway. Take position thirteen.”

She knew what she was doing. Position thirteen was the only position that would allow them to come close to expressing the relief and gratitude that was washing over Jensen, and surely over the others, right now. Tears sprang to Jensen’s eyes as he threw his chest forward, pressing his forehead to the ground, his arms stretched in front of him. The position of a supplicant at the feet of his Goddess. He heard a shuddering breath come out of Misha and knew that his Handler had begun to cry as well. Rowan left them that way for a few minutes. Nobody spoke. 

“Enough,” she said finally. “Up. Resume discipline speech.”

“Yes ma’am,” they echoed, Jensen nearly dizzy with the sheer relief of addressing her. His girl. His Rowan.

“You’re going to be punished to the fullest extent your contracts allow. Misha and Joshua, you will both be whipped.”

“Yes ma’am,” they said together. Rowan had spoken plainly and Jensen’s fellow males managed to keep fear out of their voices. 

“Jensen, the whip isn’t in your contract. No,” she said, when his eyes lit up with the desire to take it anyway. “Stop talking to me with your eyes. Keep your head down. I will stay within the boundaries of your contracts. They are, after all, the only things holding us together right now. You’ll take a severe beating followed by the cane. Misha. Look at me,” Rowan said. Next to Jensen, Misha raised his eyes to meet his Sponsor’s. “I know you want to take their punishments for them. But you can’t, and you shouldn't. They need their discipline. That’s all there is to it.”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said somberly.

“None of you will be allowed to make apologies or offer explanations for your behavior. Because there is nothing—ABSOLUTELY NOTHING,”—was Jensen imagining it, or did Rowan gazing straight at him?—“that could justify what you did. Violence in males is an unforgiveable offense.”

“Yes ma’am,” they all said together.

“Joshua, you'll take your punishment first. Stand up.”

Jensen felt panic of his own as Joshua said, “Yes ma’am,” so clearly terrified, so clearly trying to stay strong, and rose to his feet. “Joshua, for the mistakes you have made, you must take a severe punishment before being readmitted as a member of my household. You have been sentenced to a whipping and will take eleven strokes with the whip. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, trying so hard to keep his voice strong. 

“Jared will administer the strokes to your back. They may scar you permanently. Do you accept? You may choose to refuse the whipping, at which point you will be transferred to a Holding center until you are placed with another Sponsor.” The matter-of-factness with which she said this took Jensen’s breath away.

“I accept,” Joshua said. “Gratefully.”

“Joshua,” Rowan said, and she moved toward him. Jensen fought the urge to flinch. Joshua didn’t move as Rowan’s had came up--and cupped him under the chin. “You are still my male. I’m going to see you through this. It’s going to be terrible. But it will end.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Joshua said fiercely. 

Rowan and Gen led them through the house to Gen’s workout room—an incredibly elegant workout room, long with a high celling, gleaming wood floors, and one entire wall comprised of windows, offering a view of the snowy forest beyond. All the workout equipment had been pushed aside. A whipping post stood in the center of the room on one end, a wooden post with a heavy base and loops of leather for Joshua to link his hands through. On the other side of the room was a leather spanking bench, and Jensen flushed to see it. Rowan ordered Jensen and Misha back to their knees along the wall. Jensen’s knees felt weak for Joshua. He had taken the whip before, only once, in training. He’d had nightmares about it for weeks after.

“Have you ever been whipped before?” Rowan asked gently. 

“No ma’am,” Joshua said, and then, despite what were obviously his best efforts, he started to cry. 

“Do you need to be restrained?” Rowan asked. It was a routine question, many males would opt to be restrained before submitting to such a punishment, not trusting themselves to hold still under the pain. But it seemed to have an effect on Joshua. He breathed in deeply and then steeled his voice, stopping the tears. 

“No ma’am.”

Now Rowan made her voice hard. “Joshua. Remove your shirt and put your hands in the straps. Focus on that.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said and obeyed, forcing himself to the pole where he put his hands through the straps. He was sideways so Jensen could see him in profile only.  
“If you start to fall, put your weight into the straps to hold you. You must make every effort to remain standing. It must be clear to me that you are making every effort to stay on your feet. You won’t necessarily be punished more for collapsing, but I’d better have every reason to believe you fought it as hard as you could.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said. He was shaking. 

“Jared, please take command of Joshua. Misha, please prepare yourself to be Joshua’s second.”

Misha said a quick yes ma’am and hurried over to the post, stripping his shirt and leaving it on a bench. Jared’s voice was the most commanding Jensen had ever heard it be.

“Joshua. Focus on my voice. This is going to be incredibly painful. Two things will get you through it. My voice, and her eyes. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Joshua answered powerfully, beginning to puff air rapidly out of his cheeks. Preparing himself for the pain he was about to submit to.

“Get yourself into position. Hands in the straps. Good. Curve your shoulders around your face. Higher. That’s right. Misha?”

Jensen watched, shuddering, as Misha pressed against the other side of the post, looping his arms under Joshua’s underarms and crossing them against his back.

“It’ll hit your arms,” Joshua said.

“I know,” Misha said calmly. “It’s my honor.”

Jared spoke up again before Joshua could. “Joshua, you will take eleven with the whip and then it will be over. You must do everything possible to remain standing. Turn your head now and look at your Sponsor’s eyes.”

Joshua did. Jensen could see the fear wild in them, could see how hard Joshua was working to keep himself calm, to be strong. He couldn’t see Rowan’s eyes but after meeting them, Joshua appeared to calm a certain degree. Jared drew his arm back. A whipping was frightening enough, but the truth was that Males hardly ever administered punishments with them. Jared would be out of practice, there was no telling how well he’d be able to wield the instrument.

There was a swish, and the whip actually cracked as it met Joshua’s flesh, splitting his skin on the first stroke. Joshua grit his teeth and moaned, squeezing his eyes. 

“That’s one!” barked Jared. “Eyes on your sponsor! You keep your eyes on her!”

“Yes sir!” Joshua answered loudly, and then the whip bit him again. Jared kept up the stream of talk until the sixth stroke, when the whip struck high enough to cut Misha’s arms, and Joshua’s skin and Misha’s skin broke at the same time. Joshua’s legs buckled. His weight went into Misha’s arms. Misha held him up.

“Stay up!” Jared roared. “You will take five more. You can take five more!”

Joshua tried to answer but no sound came out until Jared whipped him the seventh time, and Joshua began to cry. Rowan moved toward him slightly, her instinct to go to him, but she couldn’t put herself in such close proximity to the whip without risking getting struck with it herself. She froze and started speaking to Joshua herself.

“Joshua. Look at me. It’s a terrible punishment. I know how terrible it is. But you need it. You need this, don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua managed through tears.

“Tell me why. Remind me why.” She held a hand up to Jared, who paused.

“I betrayed you,” Joshua said thickly. “So badly, ma’am. I’ve never been so disobedient in my life. I’m so sorry. I need this. I know I need this.”

“Take one now,” Rowan said, and Joshua said “Yes Rowan,” before the whip cracked his flesh the eighth time, and he roared again.

“This is what you need to be readmitted into my household. This is the price. Take another.”

“Yes, Rowan,” Joshua said through tears, and he took his ninth stroke with the whip. He was quivering all over. Jensen could see the effort Misha was making to hold him up, feeling the lash against his own forearms. 

Joshua choked. He tried to say thank you, but he couldn’t speak. “I--I--” he struggled.

“I know,” Rowan said. “Two more. You will survive this.” She paused, and then she said, “I’m going to give them to you myself.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Joshua gasped as Rowan went and took the whip from Jared. Jared stood back, clearing a space, and Rowan said, “Two more. And then it’s done.” Without waiting for a reply, she raised the whip and lashed it so that it bit a line across Joshua’s buttocks, cutting his flesh open, but avoiding Misha’s arms. Quickly she whipped him again, the final time, across his ass again, and then she dropped the whip to the ground and hurried to his side.

“It’s over,” Rowan said. “That’s eleven. It’s over, darling.”

 

“Thank you ma’am,” Joshua sobbed. Rowan worked his hands out of the straps gently and then she and Misha lowered Joshua to the floor, atop a blanket that Jared hurried over to spread open. Joshua shuddered once, and then again, reigning in his tears, Jensen could see. He was trying so hard to be strong for Rowan, not to tax her too much, not to demand too much of her. 

“Thank you ma’am,” he said. “I needed that.”

“You will never display violence again. Say it.”

“I will never display violence again,” Joshua repeated obediently. “I swear it.”

“Good,” Rowan said, and cupped her hands around his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “I believe you.”

This, Jensen saw, threatened to send Joshua into a new wave of tears. But instead he lowered his head and rested the crown of it against Rowan’s collar bone, drawing in shaky breaths as Rowan wrapped her arms around him and held him, rubbing the back of his head. 

“May I stay?” Joshua said after a moment. “Am I allowed to stay?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Rowan said fervently. “You are mine.”


	18. Jensen is Punished

“Jensen,” Rowan said. “Do you know why the whip isn’t in your contract?”

“No ma’am,” Jensen said respectfully. Joshua was behind him, lying stomach down on a padded bench. Misha was beside him, also still on his knees.

“It’s because I understand that there are certain things,” she said meaningfully, “that could trigger memories of the abuse you’ve suffered in the past and cause you to temporarily behave in a way that isn’t normal for you.”

Jensen swallowed hard. She was telling him she understood. She knew that his behavior—the violence he had so shamefully resorted to—had been triggered by a memory of Joanna, pressing against his neck like that, while simultaneously pressing something too terrible for Jensen to truly recall into his ass. Deep into him. He knew it didn’t make his reaction all right. But it meant the world to him to hear that Rowan, at least, understood. She didn’t think he had done what he had done just for the hell of it.

Her words hung there in the air until Jensen pulled himself together and said, “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

Rowan nodded. “Alright then. You’re going to take your strapping now, followed by six with the cane. A severe strapping will cover the area from your shoulders to your knees, and will continue until you start to bleed. Do you accept your punishment? You many choose not to accept it—“

Jensen was already nodding vigorously. “I accept, ma’am. Thank you.”

“We start filming again next week, Jensen. You’ll still have marks.”

“I know,” Jensen said. “I deserve it. I accept. Please, Ro.”

Rowan nodded. When she spoke, her voice was stern. “Put yourself on the spanking bench, Jensen. Everything off.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, focusing on her command and not on what was about to come. He rose to his feet and went to the bench. He was already barefoot, but he took off his pants and boxer briefs and quickly pulled off his t-shirt, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Then he lowered himself over the cold leather of the spanking bench, placing his hips on the raised hump in the center, designed to prop his ass up as an easy target. He turned his face to the room. He could see Gen and Jared off to one side, Rowan straight ahead of him, Misha on his knees, and Joshua on the bench, on his stomach, his eyes politely lowered. Jensen was trembling, the flight or fight response his body still had sometimes, after all his training. His training had taught him to breathe through it, and so he did.

“Misha,” Rowan said. “You will be administering Jensen’s beating.”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said.

“Do you understand why?”

It took Misha a moment to collect himself enough to speak. “Because I didn’t Handle him as I should have. I made mistakes, and those mistakes triggered a reaction in Jensen that I should have avoided.”

Rowan nodded, her eyes large and sad. Then she cleared her throat and went to the wall where a line of straps was hanging, the bullwhip back in its place above them, waiting to be used again on Misha. She selected a thick and heavy strap and took it to Misha, making her voice hard again when she spoke.

“Jensen has earned a severe beating. Make sure you make it hard enough, Misha, or you will shame him and cause the beating to be readministered tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said, snapping into his disciplinarian self. A difficult task, Jensen imagined. He knew Misha was feeling guilty over what had happened, and on top of that was anticipating the severe punishment that was about to be applied to his own flesh. Jensen almost opened his mouth to remind Misha how much he needed this, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to make Misha appear weak, especially not in front of Gen and Jared. 

Luckily Jensen was trembling visibly, and Misha was forced to take him in hand. “Jensen,” Misha said sharply. “Listen to the sound of my voice. You’re about to take a severe beating for the serious offense of commiting an act of violence in your Sponsor’s home. Males can be imprisoned for violent acts. Your Sponsor has shown you mercy, but you have to pay the price, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, squirming his hips just slightly in terrible anticipation. “I need punishment badly.”

“I’m going to give you a brief warm up to start. You don’t need to count. You do need to hold your position. Do you need to be restrained?”

“No sir,” said Jensen. He was determined to hold himself and submit to his punishment.

“What do you need, Jensen?”

“I need a severe strapping, sir.”

“That’s right,” Misha said, and with that he raised the strap and brought it down across Jensen’s naked ass with a medium amount of force. Jensen breathed and steeled himself. It was going to be a long haul. He was doubtless going to cry here in front of Jared, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He figured he deserved the humiliation, after what he’d done. He’d take anything Rowan asked him to. Misha strapped him again, and again. Jensen kept his breathing even. He didn’t expect support from Misha at this point, and Misha didn’t give any. Misha strapped Jensen rhythmically from the tops of his shoulder blades to the backs of his knees. Each stroke stung, but Jensen leaned into the pain, now while it was still possible, welcoming it.

“Here we go,” Misha said after about twenty strokes, Jensen’s only warning that the intensity was about to increase. Then Misha brought the belt down across Jensen’s ass with a good deal more force, and Jensen let out a little “Mmmm!” sound. 

“Is that it?” Misha said forcefully. “Is that all you’ve got? Your first real stroke and you’re already showing? Come on, Jensen,” and he brought the strap down across the backs of Jensen’s thighs, hard. “Do better.”

“Yes sir!” Jensen said loudly, and Misha brought the strap down hard—very hard—across Jensen’s back, then his ass, his back again, his thighs. Misha increased the speed of the strapping, sending Jensen’s head spinning. He lost the rhythm of his breathing and panted a bit, under the pain.

“Tell me why you need this, Jensen,” Misha said, still beating him vigorously.

“Because I—“ SMACK went the belt, jogging his speech—“I committed a terrible act of violence in my Sponsor’s house.” SMACK-SMACK-SMACK—went the belt. “And I need punishment---mmm!—so badly, Mish.”

“That’s right,” Misha said, and continued strapping him hard. After about 30 strokes at the full strength, Jensen felt tears rising to his eyes.

“Sir,” he said, panting, suddenly afraid that this time, crying would be inappropriate. “Sir, I’m going to--“

Suddenly Rowan was there, at his side. She put her hand in his hair. “You will never be punished for crying in my house Jensen. You need this, don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you ma’am,” Jensen said, and then, from the relief of her presence and the sting of the belt, began to cry. Misha continued beating him hard. He did not let up because Jensen was crying. Jensen would have expected no less. The tears helped him cope for a few minutes, and then Misha brought the belt down across the same spot three, four, five times, and Jensen cried out.

Rowan bent down. She took his hand.

“Tell me you need this, Jensen.”

“I need this, ma’am. I—ahhhh!—so badly.”

“Tell me who you are.”

“Who I . . . ?” Jensen panted, confused, moaning as the belt slammed into the skin on his back, sharp and hot.

“Whose male are you?”

“I’m yours ma’am,” Jensen said, through tears, panting, rocking with the force of the belt. “I’m Jensen—mmmmm!—Ackles West. Of Household Rowan West.”

“That’s right,” Rowan said. “You are my male.”

 

Jensen gazed into her eyes as his strapping continued, the pain blazing, his ass writhing. He grimaced and looked away for a moment and then found her eyes again. The pain was so great that he wasn’t even close to aroused, Misha had taken him past that point very quickly. But with Rowan there next to him he felt a different kind of warmth spreading over his body. He was Rowan’s. Rowan was the most incredible Sponsor Jensen had ever seen. She wouldn’t abide a low-rate Male. Which meant that he had to be—a not terrible Male. Maybe even a sort of good one. Rowan wouldn’t keep him around if he wasn’t. The thought gave him strength. He gripped Rowan’s hand.

“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you Misha, for my punishment. Please punish me harder, sir. I need it.”

“You need it,” Misha said, and increased the speed and the strength of the strapping. Jensen held on for seven strokes, then eight, panting. After ten at this pace, he roared. The pain was overwhelming. His entire backside was blazing and yet Misha didn’t stop, didn’t let up, just kept slamming the strap into him again and again and again.

“Thank you, sir,” he cried, because he needed to say something and he couldn’t say much else. “Thank you.” He found Rowan’s eyes again. She looked fierce and blazing in her own brave way, and it made him feel braver. “I love you, Rowan,” he said, starting to cry again, as Misha beat him again and again and again.

“And I love you, Male West,” Rowan said. “Take your punishment. You’re doing so well.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jensen said, moaning again, crying unashamedly now, tears streaming down his face. The beating went on, and on, the pain building, crescendoing in a wave that didn't release, only grew stronger and stronger. Jensen crying and gazing at Rowan, squeezing her hand, until after what seemed like an eternity, Misha paused and said, “He’s bleeding.”

Rowan tensed her jaw as she stood to check for herself, steeling herself against the sight of his wounds. Even in his agony, Jensen regretted the pain it caused her. She nodded shortly. “Very good. Now six with the cane.”

Jensen’s tears flowed anew at the thought of the cane but he held himself still and surrendered, silent. There were footsteps, and Misha said a quiet “Thank you,” and then Jensen felt the cane touched to his backside, gently, preparing him. Rowan stepped back, but she held his gaze. 

“What do you need now, Jensen?”

“Six with the cane, ma’am. Please give it to me, Misha.”

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Rowan said, and then she nodded to Misha.

Misha tapped the cane lightly against the fullest part of Jensen’s ass, and then Jensen heard the cane hum through the air for a split second before it struck him, and he gasped, the pain taking his breath away. After a moment a little moan finally escaped, and then Misha tapped him again before raising the cane high. It hissed down and struck him again, and Jensen moaned. He was afraid he would lose his position, his body begging him to squirm away. 

“Don’t move!” Misha barked, and tapped him again, and the third time the cane cut through the air before striking his flesh. Jensen’s entire body writhed. He gripped the edges of the spanking bench and squeezed, holding himself in place.

The next three came fast, Jensen crying out with each stroke, and then Misha said, “That’s six after a severe beating, Jensen. It’s over now.”

Immediately Rowan was at his side, her hand in his hair, her fingers cool on his flushed cheeks. She bent and kissed the tears at his eyes. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” she said. “You took that so well.”

“I’m so sorry, Rowan,” Jensen said, as she kissed and stroked the tears that were still falling from his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Rowan said, but Jensen saw depths in her eyes, a dark sort of worry, and Jensen knew that although Rowan meant what she said, forgiving him didn’t mean she had forgotten. It didn’t mean that things weren’t going to change.

That was all right. He would accept it. Whatever changes she demanded, needed, or wanted, he could endure, as long as it meant he was with her.


	19. Misha is Punished at Gen's, A New Era Begins

“Misha, you are sentenced to eleven strokes with the whip,” Rowan said. “Do you accept? You may choose not to, at which point you will be taken to a transition center to away placement with another Sponsor.”

“I accept, ma’am. And I’m so grateful to do so.”

Rowan nodded. “Very well. I’ll be giving you the whip myself.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Misha said fiercely.

Jensen was now watching from the same position as Joshua, lying on his stomach on a separate bench. There was pain, but there was also the heady rush of endorphins that came after a severe punishment, and after he had been forgiven by his lady. He was glad his punishment session was behind him, even though he knew there was likely more discipline to come. He could tell how grateful Misha was that Rowan would be giving him his strokes himself. He listened with his eyes cast politely down as Rowan ordered him naked and to the whipping post. She did not offer him a second to support him from behind. As her most senior Male, Rowan expected Misha to handle his punishment by himself. Jensen couldn’t help it, he looked up for a moment, and saw Misha carrying himself with stoic, submissive dignity as he stripped off his shirt, pants and underwear and made his way to the whipping post. He watched as Misha calmly looped his wrists through the straps. 

“Ready now,” Rowan said, raising the whip, and though Jensen knew he should look away, he didn’t. He watched Misha’s face, how composed he was. Jensen aspired to stay as calm as Misha did under a punishment but no matter how good his training had been, he just couldn’t manage. He watched Rowan steel herself, pausing to say:

“Your offense was severe, Misha. You require a severe punishment as a consequence. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said immediately, his voice strong. “I require a severe punishment, and I WANT a severe punishment. Please punish me with all the severity I deserve.”

Rowan nodded and then whipped Misha the first time. He rocked forward but otherwise showed no sign of having been struck. She whipped him again, and again Misha rocked but made no sound. Rowan whipped him a third time, the whip cracking in the air, and Misha was silent.

“Breathe, Misha,” Rowan barked, and whipped him again, and this time Misha drew in a long hiss.

"I don’t need your silence,” Rowan said. “I just need you to submit yourself, exactly as you’re doing.” And then she whipped him the fifth time, and Misha’s skin broke open. He hissed again, and then groaned. As the sixth stroke hit him, he choked out a stuttered, “Th--thank you ma’am,” and Jensen saw him lean forward, putting his weight against the pole now. On the seventh stroke, Misha’s skin broke again, and Jensen saw his legs buckle, all his weight sinking into the straps. With what was clearly a monumental effort, Misha caught his own weight and hauled himself up, remaining on his feet.

“You will stay on your feet,” Rowan said, “Because you’re my male, and because you can.”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said. His voice was steady. “Please punish me.” 

In the end, Misha held on to the stoicism he seemed determined to show. Rowan whipped him the eighth, ninth, and tenth time, and Misha grunted, and rocked, and bled, but showed no other sign of the severity of the punishment he was taking. Small rivulets of blood ran down his back. “One more,” Rowan said. She raised her arm and whipped Misha the eleventh time, and Misha drew in breath through his nose, and quivered, and bowed his head, his body shaking. 

Rowan handed the whip to Jared, and went to Misha, who stood with his forehead resting on the whipping post, his body shuddering. Rowan touched him gently on his shoulder, in a place where the whip hadn’t touched. He raised his head and looked at her. She leaned forward and whispered something into his ear, something that was just for Misha. Then she ran her hand gently up his arm to the place where his wrists hung against the leather loops, and drew his hands out. “Do you need help?” Rowan said.

“No thank you,” Misha said gently, and with Rowan at his side, started toward the benches where Joshua and Jensen laid. As he did, Misha met Jensen’s eyes, and before Jensen remembered himself and lowered them, Misha smiled at him softly.

 

After she got Misha settled, Rowan turned to Gen and said simply, “Thank you,” and Gen nodded and she and Jared left the room, leaving Rowan alone with her Males. She looked at them all a moment before saying, “You’ve all taken your punishments admirably. Gen has a room ready for each of you to rest in for a few hours, and then we’re all going home.” Their relief was palpable. “But I’ve decided to change a few things. Your roles in my household will be altered. I’ve kept things pretty casual before, but to have all three of you make a mistake of this magnitude? Clearly something isn’t working. Joshua, I know you have some training in the formal ways?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Rowan nodded. “And Misha, we’ll get you a refresher. You two will be serving as Attendant Males. Not forever, maybe. But for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha and Joshua answered. An Attendant Male was named after those who once waited on a queen, in ancient times. It was, as Rowan said, a formal role, with fewer freedoms. An Attendant Male couldn’t assume any liberties within his household, he had to wait permission for everything. Jensen looked at Rowan, waiting for his orders.

“And you,” she said to him, “will be serving me as a formal pleasure slave.”

Jensen bowed his head at once, hoping she would take it as subservience and not see it as the gesture of panic and sudden flush of embarassment that it was. “Yes ma’am,” he said, trying to keep his voice sharp.

“You’ll have a couple hours to rest, and while you’re resting, I want you all to mentally prepare yourselves for your new roles.” She looked at Misha. “All our years together aren’t for nothing. We’re just going to go through a different phase now, for awhile.”

“Yes Rowan,” Misha said, his voice husky. “Anything you ask.”

“I also want to let you all know that I’ve decided it’s time to put Joshua’s extensive training to use. He will begin serving our Household as Handler as soon as we get home.”

“Yes ma’am,” the boys all said together, because Rowan had stated it simply, and so there were simply no questions to be asked.

And with that, Rowan sprayed some antiseptic onto all of their backs, and then some SkinAid, to bind the wounds, and sent them upstairs to rest.

*****

Even though he knew what to expect, it was no less humiliating. When they arrived back at the house, Rowan sent them immediately to their rooms to change. He would never say that any consequence for what he had done was too much, but Jensen did feel pushed to a limit he had never been pushed to before. And knowing what to expect didn’t make his stomach twinge any less when he saw his uniform waiting for him: black spandex briefs (not speedo small, but still just underwear, not even boxers) and a ribbed black tank top. 

A pleasure slave’s day uniform.

There were other variations, of course. Some Sponsors preferred their pleasure slaves shirtless and in tight jeans or pants, or shirtless and in underwear, or some just in g-strings. Some, of course, went about completely naked. Jensen would have preferred pants but he knew, given the options, that this was a merciful choice and he should be grateful for it. He did as he had been instructed and performed the careful ablutions of a pleasure slave. Rowan would expect him to take more time than the others. He showered and carefully shaved and trimmed. Outside of the shower, he lotioned his entire body, brushed and flossed his teeth, shaved seven days of growth off his face until he was smooth, applied aftershave and cologne. When he had done all he could, he put on the clothes and went downstairs, resigned.

Misha and Joshua were already there, in formal Attendant male’s wear: dark gray pants and crisp white button down shirts. They stood to the side of the room, against the wall, in at-ease position: shoulders broad, hands folded behind their backs. Their duty was to remain silent unless called upon by Ro, to disappear, really, into the background yet to know exactly when action might be required--the mixing of drinks, perhaps, or preparing of dinner.

Jensen didn’t hesitate. His place was not with them. He walked fluidly to Rowan, adopting his pleasure-slave gait--relaxed and loose in the hips--and dropped gracefully at her side, head down, hands behind his back. She was at the big farmhouse table drinking wine with Gen and Jared. Everyone could see Jensen, through peripheral vision or otherwise. He felt a little obscene. He felt like what he was--a whore. While Misha and Joshua represented many things--affluence, a well run household, a Sponsor’s ability to discipline her Males--Jensen’s position was designed to represent one thing: he was employed by a mistress who could afford to keep a man around solely to meet her sexual desires. A man who wasn’t good for much else besides that, usually. He wasn’t sure how he would ever go to work with Jared and Gen again, as something like an equal, after they had seen him serve in this capacity. But that wasn’t for him to worry about. He had a job, he would do it and do it well. Rowan’s hand immediately touched his head.

“I know this will be hard for you, Jensen,” she said. “But it must be done.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. All the instincts came rushing back. He could have nestled his head into her hand, toward her thighs, and had her aroused in seconds if she wanted that. But of course she wouldn’t want that now. He would be a body slave with total decorum until she signalled otherwise, one way or another.

“There are benefits, you know, to this position,” Rowan said. “I hope you’ll realize that eventually.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Jensen said. then he took a risk and raised his head to meet her eyes, because he needed her to know he was sincere. “It is an honor to serve at your side.”

Rowan didn’t smile, but her eyes on him were soft for a long moment before she nodded and he directed his gaze down again. 

The conversation was surprisingly light and easy between Ro and Gen and Jared. They seemed ready to put the past week behind them and move forward, albeit with a much more formal household setting than Rowan had held before. She and Gen even got to laughing uncontrollably about some inside joke that was beyond his comprehension. Jensen knelt by Rowan’s side and kept an eye on the wine glasses, refilling them before they got empty. When the bottle was out, he cast a glance at Misha, who went into the kitchen and opened another. Misha started to carry it to the table but Jensen rose and intercepted him. “Drinks are my job,” he said, barely a whisper, and Misha only nodded.

Before long, Misha and Joshua went into the kitchen and prepared dinner, then served it to Rowan, Gen, and Jared. As household servants, Joshua and Misha would never eat at the table with Rowan when she had guests. Jensen could, if he was invited, but he was a long way from that in his current state. Sponsors would often call upon their body slaves to provide witty and intelligent conversation over the dinner table; it was considered a high honor and Jensen had only served such a purpose once or twice himself. He’d been good at it; but that had been when he’d been a pleasure slave at the highest ranks, not here, at the bottom rung again. Currently his duty was to wait and eat whenever Rowan bid him to do so. She could feed him from her hand if she wanted, but she didn’t. She touched his head rather absentmindedly once or twice. It was simultaneously embarrassing and reassuring. 

When they finished, Rowan and Gen stood to go to the drawing room, for more wine and maybe a movie. Jensen stood with her and waited with his hands behind his back, just half a step behind her.“You three may eat,” she said, and waited for them to respond. 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Jensen, please join me when you’re done.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Jensen said, bowing his head deeply.

Then the three men were alone in the kitchen together--for the first time since the violence that had landed them here.

They went to the counter, where the leftover food was sitting out, waiting to be put away. Misha opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

“Are we allowed to speak?”

Jensen took a deep breath. He was the most familiar with the protocol, he realized. Far more than they were. “We may speak unless she’s forbidden us to do so. She hasn’t.”

Misha and Joshua nodded, and then, before they could eat and move on, Jensen said,

“I feel responsible for the punishments you two had to take today. What happened was my fault, and I’ll submit to any further punishment you guys want to give me.”

Joshua reached down to a drawer and drew out a short tawse. Jensen drew a breath in, preparing himself. Then Joshua handed the tawse to Misha and said “Please strap my palms.” He held his palms up and Misha strapped them with the tawse, once. 

It all happened so fast. “What are you—“ Jensen said.

“You are not responsible for my mistakes, Jensen,” Joshua said.

Jensen nodded. “I know. But if I hadn’t lost it, you guys wouldn’t have—“

Joshua raised his chin at Misha, and Misha strapped Joshua’s palms again.

“Stop,” Jensen said. “Okay, I’m not responsible for your mistakes. But I attacked you—“

“Three more,” Joshua said, very calmly, and Misha strapped Joshua’s open palms three more times. Hard, Jensen could tell. Finally Jensen drew in a frustrated breath and clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t want Misha to keep strapping Joshua. Watching him, Joshua said, “Are you responsible for Misha’s actions, Jensen?”

“No sir,” Jensen said. “But why are you doing this?”

“I’m your Handler,”Joshua said. “When you fuck up, it’s on me. But when I fuck up, it’s never, ever on you. Isn’t that right, Misha?”

“Yes,” Misha said somberly. “That’s right.”

Jensen looked at Joshua. He was entirely sincere, Jensen thought. His blue eyes showed only concern. Jensen had been afraid that Misha and Joshua were going to resent him, but instead here was Joshua going to lengths to show Jensen that he wasn’t to blame for what had happened between the three of them. He swallowed hard.

“Thank you sir,” he said, moved. “You have my obedience.”

“Thank you, Jensen,” Joshua said sincerely. “That means a great deal to me.”

 

There was nothing more to say. They ate quickly, standing around the counter, none of them feeling they deserved even to sit. When he was finished, Jensen went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then said, “You two know to clean up right?”

“Yes,” Misha said. “And then we . . . “

“Make sure Ro’s bedroom and the guest bedrooms have been turned down in case Gen decides to stay. Then take your places on the patio and await her orders. And later, if she sends me to bed--that means she doesn’t want me to attend to her. Then you should check in on her and make sure she doesn’t need anything.” Jensen left them in the kitchen and went to kneel at Rowan’s side. He was surprised to realize that he was glad to be returning to her. Despite the fact that he was in his underwear, he realized for maybe the first time that being at his Sponsor’s side was a position of pride. It was a privilege he was afforded above the other two. Being close to her, but not only that. Being trusted by her intimately.

When the night was over and Gen and Jared had been kissed goodbye, Rowan said, “You three did well tonight. Joshua and Misha, you can go to bed. Get up early tomorrow so you’ll have time to look over the attending guidelines I put in your rooms. Jensen, I’d like you to attend to me. Please.”

“Of course,” Jensen said, bowing his upper body again. He knew it was a slight risk, not using ‘yes ma’am’, but he trusted Rowan to know that yes ma’ams weren’t really protocol for body slaves who weren’t being disciplined or punished. The aim was to show that they served for pleasure, not for obedience. 

“What time should we have breakfast, ma’am?” Misha asked.

Jensen glanced at Rowan. Her eyes were tired. “She’d like to sleep in. Ten should be safe.”

Misha blinked, impressed. Rowan nodded and Jensen followed her upstairs.

Jensen had to take deep breaths. He was going to be alone with Rowan. He couldn’t really believe his luck. Just twelve hours ago he’d been certain he was going to be sent back to the pens and now, here he was, trusted to be alone with Rowan in her bedroom, serving her in this most intimate way. He nearly forgot the pain in his backside, he was so grateful. He watched her closely, monitoring her body language. He figured she would not be ready for intimacy, but he watched for signals, just in case. Once in Rowan’s room, she turned to him and said, “I’ll see to myself in the bathroom.” Jensen bowed his head in acquiescence. He waited until she had shut the door behind her, then turned and saw a bedroll next to Rowan’s bed. Intended for him, of course. As a pleasure slave, he would now be using his own quarters much less frequently. He hadn’t expected to be allowed to sleep beside her, in her own bed, after such a betrayal but something about the sight of the sleeping bag and two pillows was jarring. A body slave’s protocol was to sleep naked unless instructed otherwise, so Jensen removed his shirt and underwear and put them down the laundry chute, then knelt--completely naked--on the bedroll, in submissive slave position—on his knees, buttocks on heels, with his head bowed and his hands folded behind his back.

Rowan emerged in a dressing gown and paused at the sight of him. Jensen wondered if she’d forgotten the protocol for nudity. If she had, she didn’t say it. She approached her bed and Jensen stood to help her remove her robe. When it was off, and he was holding it in his hands, she turned to face him.

“My faith in you is completely shattered,” she said quietly.

It was an arrow through his heart, although he already knew it to be true. “I know,” he said gently, his voice coming out husky with emotion. “Is there anything--other than years to prove myself--that I can do to make you feel confident again?”

Rowan shook her head. “Confidence seems a foreign concept. I almost—“ her eyes went to his bedroll, “—decided to bind you tonight so that I’d be certain you couldn’t—“

Attack me. She didn’t say the words. She didn’t need to. He knew what was on her mind. Once a Male had displayed the kind of aggresssion he had, a Sponsor would be stupid to think he’d never do it again.

“I don’t expect you to believe this,” he said. “But Rowan, I would cut my own heart out before I’d ever hurt you.”

Rowan was studying his eyes. After a moment she nodded. “You feel nervous, unsure of yourself,” she said, catching him off guard. Jensen nodded.

“You feel this way because you lost control. In the next few weeks, I’m going to . . . “ she searched for the word-- “Mistress you in such a way that you won’t be able to lose control. You will hand over control to me. It will make you feel safe again.”

Jensen nodded, his gaze down. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Rowan turned and lay down in the bed. Jensen placed her robe over the chair and turned off the light. As he was making his way back to his bedroll in the dark, Rowan spoke. “You can sleep.”

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s traditional for a body slave who is denied the privilege of his mistress's bed to maintain a vigil until she falls asleep. The idea is that if he has been denied the bed, he hasn’t been vigilant enough. I’ll keep the vigil, if that’s all right.”

“Fine,” she said flatly, as if she didn’t care one way or the other. It was jarring; she’d never spoken to him in such tones before. Jensen knelt back on the bed roll, facing not toward the bed but respectfully toward the foot of it. Rowan turned a few times in bed, as she always did. After a while--twenty minutes, maybe, she said, “Think of a ritual for the three of you. Something uncomfortable you can do every day as a sort of penitence. Every day, forever and ever, if I require it of you. To prove you intend to remain trustworthy. Something I won’t have to meddle in, that you’ll handle yourselves. Let me know tomorrow night what it is, and let me know every day that it’s been carried out.”

Here, at last, was something concrete that they could do to show how devastated they were by their own actions. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and meant it. After about fifteen more minutes, Rowan was asleep. Jensen slipped silently into his own sleeping bag. He fell asleep swearing silently to Rowan in his head that he would never hurt her.


	20. The New Routines

He was in a a dark room, with a door. Beyond the door was—what? Something terrible. A monster, he realized. A man with the face of a beast. Around the monster’s neck was a collar and a leash, and holding the other end of the leash was Joanna. “The monster has a gift for you, Jensen,” Joanna said. “He wants to taste you. All you have to do is let him in.”

Jensen knew exactly what the monster wanted. His desire to please his Sponsor warred with the abject terror of what she wanted it to do to him.

“Please,” he whispered, his throat dry. “Jo—please—“

But she couldn’t hear him, or she was pretending not to. She reached down to let the monster off its leash and Jensen knew somewhere—somewhere on the beast, or in it, was a thing that would split him open, would damage him irreparably, split his skin and insides apart and ruin him for any other Sponsor. The monster was creeping toward him, It licked his feet. It snuffled up his leg. It pressed its nose into Jensen’s groin, hurting—

“No!” Jensen woke up, panting, covered in sweat. Already Rowan was there—on the bedroll, the blankets kicked down to the bottom, tangled around his feet. He was naked. Rowan said, so gently, “Ssshhhhh, sweetheart. It’s all right.” Jensen flinched. “It’s just me. I’m here, darling. You’re all right,” and she was pressing, somehow, a cool washcloth to his sweat-covered brow. “It was just a dream.”

Jensen’s heart was still pounding but as she spoke his heart began to slow. “Joanna—“ he begain, and then stopped himself.

“She’s not here,” Rowan said. “It’s just me, honey. I won’t hurt you. I promise. I won’t let her hurt you either.”

Jensen was starting to feel ridiculous as the dream wore off. Rapidly embarassment was taking over. Why did he have to have nightmares tonight of all nights? Rowan ran the washcloth down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She let her hand drop. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. They just sat there together for a moment, Jensen catching his breath, his hands, he realized, resting on her knees as she sat cross legged facing him. He was touching her without her invitation. He drew away quickly.

Rowan reached out, caught one of his hands, squeezed it.

“I’m all right now,” he said.

“Okay,” she said softly. She reached up and put her hand on his face, grazed her thumb across his cheek. Then she pulled away. “Go back to bed, darling.”

He squeezed her arm before she drew away, nodding. She climbed back into her bed. Jensen laid back down, fixing the blankets. He stayed awake for awhile, his mind racing—embarrassment, regret, the way Rowan had touched him—before at last he finally fell back asleep.

He had worried about not having an alarm but old pleasure slave instincts woke him at six. There was little chance Rowan would be up anytime soon and he could have gone back to bed but he didn’t want to risk it. Silently he slipped from the blankets--Rowan was wearing a frown in her sleep, something he’d seen only rarely on her before--and went to his own bathroom, which was set off of Rowan’s bathroom, the arrangement intended to prevent pleasure slaves from waking their mistresses as they got ready in the mornings. His bathroom actually connected to Misha’s, and technically Misha should have been there to see if Jensen needed anything, but Jensen didn’t expect Misha to remember that. It was old-fashioned protocol, and not in fashion. He was surprised, then, to hear a gentle knock on Misha’s door after he started the shower.

“I know I’m supposed to check in on you,” Misha said. He was already neatly dressed in tight jeans and a fitted black v-neck. “But I don’t know exactly why. May I bring you some coffee?”

It was strange for Jensen to hear his former Handler talk to him this way. “Yes please,” Jensen said. “Coffee’s allowed unless she specifically forbids it. For food I have to wait for her permission.”

“There are so many rules,” Misha said. “I’ve been up since five reviewing the handbook.”

“Good. I’ll try and remind you, but I’m a little rusty myself.”

“Here,” Misha said, turning to retrieve a fresh stack of Jensen’s slave uniform--underwear and tank tops galore. “If she changes your dress requirements-?”

“She’ll tell me and I’ll tell you,” Jensen said. “Morning duties are just to make sure I’m stocked on supplies and clothes and coffee. If she read the paper every morning you’d bring me that—it’s all really about her habits.” Misha nodded. “I’ll let you know if I need anything. You have your Keeper on?”

“Yes. Breakfast--any idea?”

“Lots of fruit, stuff for breakfast tacos. Make sure we have bacon and sausage, just in case, but she doesn’t usually want those. As you know. Don’t forget to trust your own instincts. You’ve known her longer than any of us.”

Misha nodded, looking grateful for this confidence-boosting piece of advice. Jensen showered and dressed. He had time to glance at his back in the mirrors, though he didn’t want to linger long. His back, buttocks and thighs were still covered in red welts. Thick ones mostly, with a few thin stripes running across his ass. They would turn purple soon and take their time fading. They crisscrossed beyond what was covered by his underwear, the marks of his punishment clear for anyone to see, on his thighs and ass. Humiliating, but he deserved it. He knew he did. This was part of the reason pleasure slaves were kept in so little dress--if they’d been punished recently, it was easy to see.

Jensen went back into the bedroom and knelt in the corner, facing the wall. He waited patiently for about an hour and half, when he heard Rowan begin to stir. He continued to wait while she drifted in and out of sleep. Eventually he heard her rise from the bed, but since she didn’t address him, he held his position. She walked past him and into the bathroom. Jensen waited still.

Finally, after showering, Rowan emerged from the bathroom, dressed and smelling sweet. “Jensen,” she said simply. He rose and faced her, smiling softly. This was such a confusing line. It was appropriate to be pleased to see her, yet it didn’t feel appropriate for Jensen to be happy. Rowan smiled softly back. He wondered if she would say something about the nightmares, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “The sight of you in these clothes, I must say, is very pleasing to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jensen said, letting a wry smile slip before recovering. Rowan sat on the bed.

“Put the bedroll away. You won’t be needing it again,” Rowan said. Jensen raised one eyebrow and went to do as he was bid. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I’d like you to feel free to move and behave with the privilege your position affords. Lighten the mood a bit, I guess. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so,” Jensen said, putting the rolled up bag and pillows outside the door for Misha or Joshua to take away.

“I’m thinking, since you can’t atone for what you’ve done, I’d like to start over. So it doesn’t shadow us, forever. I’d like us to behave as if we’re starting out again entirely. Cautiously. So I don’t expect you and I to be--the way were. Not out of the blue again. I’d like us to go forward as if we’re just getting to know each other. Without any of the good--or bad--things in the past.”

Jensen came and knelt before her. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “If I was a new pleasure slave to you, I would behave a little more formally and a little less--reserved. I’d start prodding very gently to learn your boundaries. I’d expect a good amount of correction and I’d look for ways to please you. Does that sound right?”

“Yes,” Rowan said, and she reached forward and cupped his face. He gazed at her softly. “Can you tell the others?”

“I’d be happy to,” Jensen said. Rowan’s hand dropped and he rocked back gently on his knees.

“If this was my first day,” he said, standing. “I’d present myself for you to inspect.” He stood with his hands at his sides. “You said that my appearance pleases you, but is there anything to modify or improve?” He turned around so she could see the back of him.

“I’d like you to keep your backside freshly striped,” she said, surprising him. “Say. . . every three days. For a few weeks. Until I let you know.”

“Of course,” Jensen said. “Anything else?”

“This evening after five I’d like you shirtless.”

“I’d be honored to respect that request,” Jensen said, turning back to face her. He was going to ask her about her morning routine but she spoke first.

“Come bend across my knee.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, surprised but hiding it. She was keeping him on his toes. Jensen was suddenly aware of how much work he and the boys were going to be on Rowan, now that she had the task of rehabilitating them, more or less. Resolving to make it as easy on her as he possibly could, he went to her and lowered himself gracefully across her lap, his bottom full across her knees. She touched his welts gently and Jensen realized she might want to keep him striped for her sensual pleasure, not just to see him punished. He wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter really. Without discussing it, she pulled his underwear into his crack and began to spank him soundly on his bare bottom. Jensen held perfectly still and silent, not clenching. She spanked him rhythmically on the full of his buttocks and down, onto his thighs. The spanking went on for awhile and became quite painful over his welts, but Jensen stayed submissively bent over her, silent. After sometime, when he had begun to breathe rapidly to avoid moans and writhing, she stopped and rubbed the hot, very red skin a moment.

“Do you have a g-string?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“Put it on.”

“Of course,” he said. He stood up and went to his drawer, took out a g-string, and put it on in place of the briefs. Rowan wanted his punished butt displayed, the red hot flesh evident for Misha and Joshua to see. It surprised him, but he didn’t question it, even internally. He was determined to obey perfectly. He stepped into the g-string and turned his backside to her so she could see his punishment. He remembered recent days when she’d pushed her hands into his jeans to feel his punished bottom, when he’d climbed on top of her and made her come while Misha paddled him. Those times might be over for now, but it was nice to have this small piece of it back--painful and humiliating, but nice.

“This will be our morning routine,” Rowan said. “Understood?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

Rowan nodded. “Good. Let’s go down to breakfast.”

Jensen walked ahead of her so she could see his reddened ass. He moved again in the loose-hipped, seductive way of a body slave. A body slave’s aim was to get his mistress to solicit sex from him on the first night. Jensen thought that was unlikely, but he was going to give it his all.

Down in the kitchen, Misha and Joshua were waiting awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do. Jensen turned to Rowan. “Should we eat in the sunroom?” It had snowed in the night and the sunroom, which was well-heated in the winter, would give them a view of the forest, the trees all newly dusted in white.

“Yes,” she said. “Good idea.”

Jensen turned back to Joshua and Misha. “Coffee and breakfast in the sunroom, please. Breakfast tacos and fruit? And the paper or any new magazines.” He looked at Rowan.

“Sounds perfect,” she said. “Maybe croissants, if we have any. And a mimosa for me.”

 

The boys nodded and then Jensen made a point of turning so they would catch a glimpse of his ass. He kept his eyes seductively, almost coyly half-lowered while Rowan watched his face and, he could tell, Misha and Joshua took in the evidence of his fresh punishment. After a long moment he raised his eyes to Rowan’s, asking a question with a shine in his eyes that was just every so slightly mischievous.

She nodded in approval and lead him outside.

Jensen lit a few white candles along the windows. Then he had intended to sit with Rowan but on instinct he remained standing, facing her with his back toward the door so that Misha and Joshua would be afforded another long look at his punished rear end. Rowan sighed deeply and turned her gaze out the windows, to the winter woods. She looked, if not happy, more relaxed than he had seen her in weeks, and that made him glad. He waited and tried to keep his energy calming--energy work was an important part of his job. He must never convey impatience or dissatisfaction, and if at all possible he should project a calm and soothing energy. It wasn’t long before he heard the door behind him slide open and one of the other men approaching. Jensen didn’t bend over, but he did lean forward slightly, raising his buttocks to afford a better view. After a moment it was Misha who came around the table to set coffee and a pitcher of cream on the table.

“Thank you Misha,” Rowan said. She raised her cheek to be kissed and Misha, thankfully, didn’t miss it.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, kissing her cheek and then stepping back. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you,” Rowan said smoothly, keeping Jensen’s secret. “What’s on your agenda for today?”

Misha glanced at Jensen, but Jensen could only wait. “My only plans for the day are to see your needs are met, ma’am,” Misha said finally.

“I’d like to have a brunch tomorrow,” Rowan said. “Bagels and lox, fruit, mimosas and Bloody Marys. You may go out to shop for supplies between around one and three. I’d also like you to pick up a training crop for Jensen. A medium width strap, not the flogger style. See that you and Joshua are wearing belts at all times in case punishment is necessary. Before you’d leave I’d like to you speak with Jensen about how we intend to move forward.”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said.

Jensen spoke before Misha could turn away. “Get a masseuse in for Rowan today. And I’ll need to see an aesthetician as soon as possible.” Misha nodded.

“Misha, have you had a chance to see Jensen’s spanked ass?”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said, without any hint of being thrown off by this unusual question from Rowan.

“Good. Jensen, let Misha give you a smack and then sit down,” she said. Jensen turned obligingly and bent forward. Misha did as he was bid, spanking Joshua’s bottom once, soundly, and then turning to go back into the house. Jensen took a risk and looked at Rowan with heavy lidded eyes as he sank into the chair next to her. His bare skin raw on the cushion.

“Your deep submission pleases me,” Rowan said.

“Thank you,” Jensen said, smiling. “I’m glad to hear that.” He poured her coffee and added her cream, handing her her mug before pouring his own. “I’ll be sure to ask Misha to strap me every three days. Whenever you’d like to see it, just let me know.”

 

For five days Jensen attended at Rowan’s side and in that time he gained a deep appreciation for her, deeper than he’d even had before. He also came to understand exactly how it was that Rowan had earned Level Seven status--she was excellent at what she did. She didn’t treat Jensen that much differently than she ever had before, and if pressed he couldn’t even have said what she did differently, but Jensen felt exactly the way Rowan wanted him to feel: like a new acquire, a male on trial. Rowan removed completely the security that had been offered to him when his position was assured. It had been a long time since he’d been kept on his toes, and he was ashamed to admit he’d forgotten how good he’d had it, not having to work and strain for her approval.

 

The first night, when they'd had their time together in the evening to go over household matters, Jensen had told the boys about Rowan's request. "She wants us to come up with a ritual, something we can do every night for penitence," he'd said. Joshua and Misha had nodded immediately, seeming as relieved as he had been to have something to offer Rowan to show their obedience.

"Paddlings come to mind first," said Misha. "But with the spanking schedule Rowan already has you on, I'd hesitate to add more if we have other options."

"What about an hour on the rice?" said Joshua.

"An hour on the rice, with a figg," Jensen added. He wanted the ritual to be difficult enough to make it worthwhile.

Joshua had looked at him carefully. “I’m concerned that might trigger you, Jensen,” he’d said gently.

“When I lost control, it was because of other things,” Jensen said. “I can handle a figg.”

Jensen had expected Joshua to look to Misha for confirmation but instead he studied Jensen’s gaze for a moment before nodding and deciding to trust him. “All right. An hour then, every day.”

On the morning of the sixth day, Rowan emerged from the bathroom and said simply, “I’d like to be alone today Jensen. You are dismissed for the time being. Thank you.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, bowing slightly before leaving the room, trying not to show how thrown off he was. Rowan offered no explanation, so there was no way to know if he’d done anything wrong--keeping him on his toes again. If they had an established relationship, Rowan might have bothered to tell him if he’d displeased her, or reassure him if he hadn’t, but they were working without that safety net now. And Jensen knew that, as a Sponsor, Rowan wouldn’t elicit the best behavior from him if she was too easy on him. It was her duty to keep him sharp.

Taking a deep breath, Jensen put his jeans on and headed downstairs. He didn’t think he’d displeased her. She had asked him to pleasure her on the first night, a small victory in a string of his recent defeats. He’d pleasured her every night since, bringing her to orgasm. He hadn’t been invited to orgasm himself, but that wasn’t cause for concern. A Pleasure Slave expected it to take months before he would be offered pleasure; it wasn’t considered a problem until they hit a year, at which point a Slave would appeal to his Handler to intercede on his behalf and see what the problem was. Six days was too early to worry, and yet Jensen couldn’t help it.

In the kitchen were Misha and Joshua. Jensen interrupted an easy conversation they were having. He supposed the last six days had given them chance to relax a little, as well--though only a very little. Misha was chopping fruit and Joshua was sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee. When Jensen entered he stood.

“What does she need?”

“Nothing,” Jensen said. He told himself that a day off was nothing for a pleasure slave to be ashamed about. “I mean, breakfast, probably. But, I’m not here because she sent me. I’m dismissed for today.” Jensen was about to say that he’d be in his room--he felt he ought to wait in position until he was called back to service again, but Joshua’s voice stopped him.

“Good. Sit down.”

Nervous now, Jensen lowered himself onto the stool. He folded his hands in his lap and looked attentively at Joshua. The dynamics were difficult. In some ways Jensen was the highest ranking male, but he was still subject to Joshua’s discipline. He waited for correction.

“I’m sorry,” Joshua shook his head. “Not like that. I mean sit down in front of the tv, man. Rest.”

“Rest?”

“We’ve been reading,” Misha chimed in. “The Sponsor’s handbook says it’s our duty to rest you. It’s very clear about that. Because your job is so demanding--rewarding I’m sure, but demanding--it’s important for us to recover you whenever we get the chance. That means now.”

“I don’t know,” Jensen said warily. This hadn’t been the custom in Joanna’s, house, though he had heard of it. “I mean, I’ve been dismissed. I don’t know if I deserve--” he searched for a better word, “pampering.”

“Did she dismiss you, or relieve you? What word did she use?” Joshua asked.

“Dismiss,” Jensen said. “Definitely.”

“Then you deserve rest,” Misha said. “If she’d used ‘relieve’, it would have implied a bit of disgrace on your part, and I’d let you go to your room and wait in position, as I’m sure you were planning to do. But dismiss means rest. Remember, Jensen. It’s ultimately for her sake. The better rested you are, the better you’ll be able to serve her.”

Jensen took a deep breath. He knew what Misha and Joshua were saying was true. “Okay,” he said.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Joshua said, patting his back. Misha was placing bowls of fruit and nuts on the tray for Rowan. “Go sit down. Use the rec room if you’ll be more comfortable, but you won’t bother us here. It’s not like we’ve had time to get sick of you.”

Jensen nodded.

Rowan stayed in her room all morning. Jensen flipped through the sports channels for a little while as he drank his coffee, going over his actions the past few days even though Misha had warned him not to, seeming to have read his mind. He had asked Misha to strap him on the third day and yesterday, the sixth day, as Ro had required, and made sure to report to her afterwards in a g-string. She had seemed pleased. Last night the four of them had eaten dinner together on the patio. Jensen had attended to Rowan and acted as sort of a buffer, keeping the atmosphere casual and upbeat and then, while Joshua and Misha had cleaned up the dishes and prepared for tomorrow, Jensen had kissed and caressed Rowan between her legs until she came. She had smiled at him after, panting and running her fingers through his hair.

Before long Jensen was bored of the tv. He turned it off and went out to the kitchen, where Misha and Jensen were compiling a menu for the following week. It would be submitted to Rowan for approval and then they’d do the shopping together. Jensen tamped down the twinge of envy that he felt for their camaraderie, Misha and Joshua’s companionship with one another. It was a Pleasure Slave’s honor to serve alone. A second Pleasure Slave would mean Jensen had been unable to meet Rowan’s needs and taint him with disgrace.

“Anything I can help with?” he said.

“Absolutely not,” said Misha. “You’re supposed to be resting. We’ve got a masseuse coming for you in a couple hours, and I happened to clean out your sauna yesterday so take advantage of that, if you’d like. You’re probably getting hungry. Are you ready for lunch?’

Before Jensen could argue, they heard Rowan coming down the stairs. Misha and Joshua stood at relaxed attention. Jensen panicked for a brief moment and then decided to remain sitting. He was off duty, he was supposed to rest. Rowan could correct him if he was wrong, he’d accept it gratefully.

“Good afternoon,” she smiled and kissed them both on the cheek. She smiled softly at Jensen and he sparkled his eyes at her, smiling. “Everything going all right?”

“Just planning the menu for the week,” Misha said. “Any special requests?”

“Let’s eat out a couple times,” Rowan said. “Otherwise just lots of fruits and vegetables. I’m not really into meat right now. Get some steaks for the three of you, though. And wings or ribs or whatever you want to barbecue on Sunday, you’re all taking the day off.”

Misha seemed a bit stunned. Joshua nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

Rowan returned his smile. She picked up her keys and Misha grabbed her a bottled Fiji water from the fridge. “Thanks. I’ll be grabbing dinner and maybe a late movie with Gen. I’ll be home late, might be close to one. Don’t wait up. Bring me coffee around ten, I don’t want to sleep too late.” She shifted her eyes to Jensen. “Are you resting?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said warmly.

“Good. I want you rested. Take the day off tomorrow as well, and Sunday we’ll have a break.” She kissed them each goodbye and left.

They boys were quiet for a minute, a sort of stunned silence. Then Joshua spoke.

“A day off. Wow. I was not expecting that.”

“Me neither,” said Jensen.

“It’s a good sign, I guess?” said Misha.

“I think more likely we should see it as not a bad sign,” Joshua said. “A good Sponsor knows when to rest her males, and we know Rowan is the best. So we should see it as more of a reflection of her abilities and less a reflection on our performance. However,” he smiled. “I think if we weren’t doing fairly well, she might not have decided to rest us in this way. So we can be glad for that at least.”

Jensen nodded. He was used to hearing this kind of thing from Misha. It coming from Joshua was a different matter. He hadn’t had a whole lot of time to get to know Joshua before the terrible event had occurred. He knew that Rowan had shifted their roles slightly, but still it was strange hearing Joshua speaking as Handler and seeing Misha nod and accept it. As if he knew what he was thinking, Misha smiled softly at Jensen and said, “I’m happy in this role, Jensen. Handler was always a challenging position for me. Our new arrangement allows me to use my strengths more. Rowan saw that. She was planning on this before everything happened, did you know?”

“No,” Jensen said. “I wasn’t upset or--questioning anything. But I’m glad you told me.”

The atmosphere was light and easy. Joshua took a Vitamin Water from the fridge and handed it to Jensen. Misha got up and began to prepare lunch.

“What has it been like?” Jensen said. “I mean--I just don’t know how we’re all doing. If that is an inappropriate question, please correct me,” he added.

“I don’t think your intentions are inappropriate,” said Joshua. He paused. “It’s been difficult. I was beginning to adjust to Rowan and her practices in one way, and now our actions mean I’ve had to sort of erase that adjustment and learn another. Misha and I have refreshed our training online, which has helped. It had been awhile since either of us had served in the traditional capacity. I think the hardest thing has been--correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like Rowan’s wanted us to cultivate a less formal atmosphere in the house. Not loose, but not so stiff as we started out. And that’s hard because we don’t feel like we deserve it.”

Jensen nodded. “I know what you mean. She’s wanted me to be one way. But I'm feeling another. I don’t mean that as a complaint.”

“I know you don’t,” Joshua said, and took a deep breath. “Let’s go easy on each other. I don’t think any of us is willing to put even a toe over the line right now.”

Misha nodded. “I agree. We need to put what Rowan wants over what we want. We may want to make ourselves suffer, but Rowan thinks our new roles are consequences enough without us moping about all the time.”

“How’s it going for you?” for Joshua said to Jensen. “If we were new acquires, it would be my job to check in on you. I support you so you can support Rowan. Do you need any help, or. Anything?”

Jensen took a deep breath. “I think it’s going well. Rowan has corrected me a few times for minor things. Preferences, really. Honestly I was expecting more correction but. I guess I have an advantage I wouldn’t normally, since I’m already familiar with most of her preferences. I’ve pleasured her every night. I’m saying that because. . . you would need to know if I was failing to please her. She seems to be enjoying keeping me striped. Which is fine, it’s an easy way to please her and I’m happy to do that. I’m honored to share her bed and serve at her side.”

“Good,” Joshua said. “Let’s get some oil on you today so you can continue to please her in that capacity. “ Jensen nodded agreement.

Misha set two plates with sandwiches and fruit and chips in front of them. Together they sat around the island and ate, their talk relaxing a bit. It was good. Jensen knew the relationships between the three of them needed some healing as well.


	21. Chapter 21

The Saturday before the three others were set to return to work, Joshua made his spicy pho that Rowan loved so much, and then after eating, Rowan went upstairs to rest while the boys preformed their ritual. It was habit now, and after cleaning up the dinner things the three of them quickly shucked off their pants, and Misha and Jensen waited for Joshua to insert their figgs. Joshua put his own figg in, set the timer, and they waited. When it was over, Misha and Jensen waited in position for Joshua to remove their figgs—not something he’d asked them to do, just a habit they’d adapted on their own, showing deference to their Handler. “Go on,” Joshua said tonight. “I’ll sweep up.”

After cleaning up the rice, Joshua went upstairs to Rowan’s quarters while Jensen went for an evening workout and Misha went up to his own room. He found Rowan in her quarters, in her dark green silk robe, her hair falling around her face. She was in bed, with a thick book. She smiled at him when she saw him, a smile that was warm enough but that lacked the plain desire of the way she had looked at him before the incident. She hadn’t invited him to her bed since. Which was of course her prerogative, but Joshua couldn’t help but miss the intimacy of the relationship they had been developing beforehand. 

“Hey,” Rowan said.

“Hey,” Joshua answered. “We preformed our ritual.”

“Great.” Rowan had a bottle of wine open on the nightstand. “Would you like a glass?” she asked Joshua.

“Thank you,” Joshua said, accepting, and then stood to take the glass she had poured--a smooth red, chocolatey and cherries, Joshua knew.

“Chateau Neuf ’08,” Joshua said. He knew a good amount about wine, it had been part of his training. “A favorite of mine.”

“Is it? I don’t know much about them. Misha orders them and they’re always good,” she shrugged and raised her glass to clink it against Joshua’s. He sat down and took a sip.

“How was your week?” she said. She hadn’t asked him this yet, their meetings since the incident had taken on a tone that was businesslike.

“It was good,” he said. “Misha and Jensen are great to work with. Now that we’ve—settled, of course. How was yours?”

Rowan smiled softly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “Anything I should know about Misha and Jensen?”

This was standard Sponsor-Handler talk. Rowan trusted him to keep her informed on household matters, it might not be as rewarding as pleasuring her in bed, but it was definitely something. “Things are good,” he said. “You asked me to look for opportunities to discipline them, but they haven’t given me any,” he smiled ruefully. “So I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

Rowan smiled back. She had asked Joshua to look for chances to hand out minor disciplines to Jensen and Misha, to get them used to submitting to him. Ten swats or less, she had specified, to start. But Misha and Jensen were conducting themselves with near perfection. 

“And you? How are you doing with all the changes?”

Joshua considered this.“I’m doing my best to be the Handler you and they deserve,” he said. Rowan nodded. “I was starting to adapt to one sort of role in your household, and now I’m learning another. I trust you’ll correct me if I fail to please you.”

“I will,” Rowan said. “Thank you. Do you anticipate any trouble with Misha or Jensen?”

Joshua gathered himself. He was about to do something that was part of his job but was risky nonetheless—offer his Sponsor his opinions. Some Sponsor’s didn’t take well it it. Some got defensive, some would punish the Handler—Joshua would know, after this.

“Misha is at risk right now of feeling overlooked,” Joshua said. “Because Jensen and I require so much of your attention and efforts, but Misha needs a lot less, considering how long he’s been with you. I don’t think he’d act out—you’d know better than me—but I Imagine under the wrong conditions, he may sort of—wilt. And his performance would suffer.”

Rowan nodded. “Thank you. Misha is on my mind, but I appreciate your reminder, and your consideration of him. This is exactly the sort of insight I want from my Handler.”

Joshua smiled, relieved.

“And Jensen?”

“Jensen seems to be thriving. Although he does need to learn to take a punishment from me. Normally, as his Handler, I would have just gotten on with it. But things have been different.”

“Well, that’s easy,” Rowan said. “He’s been going to Misha every three nights for fresh stripes. I’ll have him start going to you.”

Joshua nodded. “That should do it.”

Rowan smiled. “And as for you now, darling,” she said. “You said you ought to be kept just as red as Jensen these first few weeks.”

“Yes, Rowan,” Joshua said. “I really feel it’s best for any new male to be disciplined almost constantly.”

“Let’s see to that, then,” Rowan said. “There are several paddles in the first cabinet in my closet. Why don’t you choose one.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said. He set his wine on a tray on the desk and went through her bathroom to her closet. The bathroom smelled of both Rowan’s perfume and Jensen’s cologne. Rowan picked a different cologne for each of her boys—Joshua’s was woodsy and earthy, like a run through a forest after a rain. Jensen’s was of burnt caramel and singed orange peel with hints of leather and bourbon. Misha’s was purple and dusty floral, heady and dripping like a Pleasure Garden in June.

He opened the first cabinet of her closet and found an array of paddles hanging in order of size. Some were thicker than others, some had holes in them. Some were leather and others wood. One of the leather paddles had a raised heart on the back to leave a heart shaped mark upon the flesh on which it landed. That was clearly for pleasure play. Joshua didn’t chose the heaviest paddle, because he was taking a routine discipline and not a true punishment, but he did choose one of the heavier leather paddles, big enough to cover most of his ass in one blow.

“I like this one,” Rowan said when he handed it to her, gripping the handle and tapping the paddle against her own flesh. Rowan usually tapped herself a few times with any implement she was about to use on one of them—something Joshua had noticed because he’d never seen another Sponsor do the same. She sipped her wine again. “That’s good, isn’t it? All right Darling. Why don’t you bend over the edge of the bed. Ass down, pants up. I mean—pants down—oh dear,” Rowan paused and cleared her throat. “I’m a little bit tipsy. Do you consent to being paddled with me like this? You don’t have to.”

Joshua couldn’t help but smile. “I consent, Sponsor West.”

“Good. I mean you really don’t have to. But I usually don’t hit quite as hard when I’m drunk. Not that I’m drunk—“

While she rambled, Joshua had taken down his pants and bent over the bed. No one had ever told him to leave his boxers up explicitly, but Rowan seemed to prefer it, so he left them there for her to lower as it pleased her. 

“All right,” she said. “I’m going to give you 30. You’d better count them out.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. Still amused, though knowing he wouldn’t be in a moment. He felt her hand at his waistband, gripping and then gently lowering his boxers. She rubbed her hand across his ass for a moment in a way that made him think she probably did still desire him, and then tapped the paddle lightly against his backside and said, “Here we go.”

Rowan brought the paddle down hard across Joshua’s ass. He let out a little huff of air. “One,” he said. She paddled him again. The amused smile was already gone. “Two.” When Joshua had first seen Rowan, he’d known she was a Sponsor who would have no trouble making a punishment hurt. Some of them did, either not willing to inflict upon a male the pain necessary to keep him in line, or not physically able. Rowan had looked warm and kind, from the first time he met her. But she had also looked, unmistakably, in control. A woman with a tough center who knew how to get a male’s best behavior out of him. It had aroused him and made him nervous, both at once.“Three,” he said. The next one landed harder. Joshua let out a little moan. “Four,” he said. 

“Very good,” said Rowan, then slammed the paddle into him again. “Five.” SMACK. “Six.” SMACK. “Mmm—Seven!” Joshua said, the pain starting to break his composure. 

“Very good, my Handler,” Rowan repeated. “It’s a little bit lovely to see you lose control.” 

“Thank you ma’am---mmmmm! Eight.”

Rowan kept paddling him hard. He desperately did not want to cry—a routine 30 with the paddle and he was going to cry now?—but something about Rowan’s rhythm, the force she was using that he had not quite expected, had him off guard. At 25, Joshua began trembling all over with the effort to hold in the tears. Rowan noticed—of course she did—and he felt her fingers on his lower back, right above where his skin started blazing with pain.

“You won’t ever be punished for crying in my house, Joshua.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said through clenched teeth.

“And you won’t lose any face either.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, hearing her but still trying to prove himself, trying not to be a male who cries during a routine discipline. He waited for the paddling to continue—five more, that was it—and after a moment, Rowan did.

SMACK. “Twenty-six.” SMACK. “Twenty-seven.” 28, 29, and then, finally, the paddle slammed into his ass, and Joshua said “30,” and stood up.

“Who gave you permission to stand, Male West?”

Rowan’s voice was low and stony, and it sent a chill up Joshua’s spine. He froze. The paddle slammed into him again, catching the backs of his thighs and he nearly lowered his hands there to protect himself, like a little boy. “Answer me,” Rowan said.

“No one did, ma’am. I’m sorry—please punish me. I need correction.”

“Bend. Over.” Rowan commanded.

Joshua had to swallow a lump in his throat to answer. “Yes ma’am,” he said, bending. 

“Who determines when your punishments are over?”

“You do, ma’am. I’m—“ he wasn’t supposed to apologize, he remembered at the last moment. Not until he’d been punished. “—in need of punishment.”

“Turn around and look at me, Joshua.”

Somehow this was harder than remaining bent over. Joshua rose, turning slowly, keeping his eyes lowered until the last moment. When he finally met her eyes, he took in the depth of her anger. All traces of tipsiness were gone, replaced by that thoughtful, sharp look Rowan often wore. She was smart as hell. Nothing got by her.

“Why did you do that, Joshua?”

“I—I don’t know, ma'am. Please punish me.”

“You do know. What did I say to you a few moments ago, about crying?”

Joshua flushed, embarrassed. He had to clear his throat and swallow hard to formulate an answer.

“That I would never be punished for it in your house, ma’am.”

“So why were you trying not to cry?”

“I wanted to stay in control,” Joshua admitted.

“That’s right. You were trying to take control of your discipline. You handle Misha and Jensen for me. But who handles you?”

“You do, ma’am,” Joshua said, struggling valiantly to maintain eye contact. He was so ashamed, he wanted to look away.

“I do. During a discipline, you have to hand control over to me. That’s your job.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Turn back around, sweetheart.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, and obeyed. Placing his hands on the bed, preparing now to take a true punishment.

“Tell me—how would Rose have reacted to what you just did?”

“Rose??” Joshua said, completely baffled, the pitch of his voice rising. The mention of her name sent him spinning. For a moment he was miles away. Then he remembered he needed to answer Rowan, not repeat her words back to her. “I’m sorry. Rose would have—she wouldn’t have done anything. Rose was—“

“Indulgent,” Rowan supplied, not a trace of anger in her voice. Not even disapproval.

“Yes ma’am.”

“She loved you. And you loved her.”

“Ma’am?” Joshua said, emotion creeping into his voice, his words coming out shaky.

“It’s all right. It speaks well of you, that you loved your Sponsor. It’s considered a positive mark in your record, not a negative one. I’m going to punish you now for trying to take control of your discipline. It will end when I decide it should end, and I might switch implements, or have you switch positions. Your job is to obey and to surrender. Do you understand, Joshua?”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said. “Thank you for correcting me.” His voice came out weaker than he would have liked. Before he could think, Rowan paddled him hard, and then again, and again, a fast flurry of blows, painful and relentless. Her mention of Rose had pulled the emotional rug out from under him, left him disoriented and vulnerable. He couldn’t gain control of himself—he heard himself crying out with the pain, unable to check his reaction. After about ten of the blows, he could hold it back no longer. He started to cry.

The tears did not stop the flurry of paddling. It came so hard, Joshua accidentally did the unthinkable—with one particularly hard blow, he rose up onto his toes, groaning. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” he blurted, realizing he had broken Rowan’s rule about holding his position.

“Ssshhhh,” she said. “You get one. You’re new enough. That’s your one. Lay flat on the bed.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. She didn’t stop paddling as he moved. With relief he laid flat on his stomach, atop her soft down comforter, his backside arching perfectly over the end of the bed. The sensation on his front side was a sharp contrast to the throbbing pain on his backside. Rowan paddled him, and paddled him, and then there was a pause in the paddling, and he felt her tugging at his pants, still around his ankles. She was removing his belt—he braced, the belt his most dreaded implement—then realized he wasn’t supposed to brace and tried to relax. Rowan didn’t say anything, gave no warning even, just the sound of the strap in the air and then its sharp smack against his flesh. Rowan strapped his ass, and then his upper thighs, which hurt more. He wriggled and writhed his hips with the pain.

“Vocalize, Joshua.”

“Ma’am?” he panted.

“Talk to me. Tell me how much it hurts. Let me hear you.”

“I—I’m sorry, I don’t—“

The strap slammed into him. “Do what Jensen does.”

“Oh. Ma’am—“ she strapped his thighs hard. “Ma’am, I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Keep going.”

It was hard to talk in between the blows without letting out more noises of pain.

“I—mmmmm!—I need my strapping—so badly, ma’am,” he said. “Ahhh—ow!” This did not come naturally to him—speaking during a punishment. He tried to take it silently, and require as little of Rowan as possible. And the noises he was making in between the words were humiliating him. 

“Ahh-hahaha—“ he breathed in pain after the next stroke. “Ma’am—I—I need my strapping. Mmmm!” suddenly he was not just crying, he was sobbing, choking on his own tears, totally out of control.

“Good,” Rowan said finally. She stopped strapping, watching him. Joshua absolutely did not move. Would not. He assumed more were coming.

More did. Rowan went back to the paddle, paddled him about ten more times—Joshua sobbing the entire time—then stopped. Again, Joshua waited.

“Go get a switch. Naked.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, his breath shuddering. “May I stand to go get one?”

“Yes you may,” she said. Joshua pushed himself up off the bed, finding his feet before heading down for a switch. Rowan smacked his ass on the way out. Joshua stopped, waiting to see if she wanted to spank him again.

She did. “Very good,” she said, spanking again. “Bend over for a moment.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, and bent into a forward fold, grabbing, his elbows with his hands. Rowan spanked his bare ass with her bare hand a few times, rubbed, spanked again. Then she reached beneath, between his legs, and gently cupped his balls.

“Who owns this?”

“You do, ma’am. I’m yours.”

“That’s right,” Rowan said. She spanked him again. “Up. Off you go.”

Rowan had broken down all his defenses so completely that he didn’t have to force himself to walk through the house naked, with a red ass and tears on his cheeks. When he passed through the kitchen, Misha was there. He raised his head, opening his mouth to speak, then saw the state Joshua was in and closed his mouth, politely lowering his eyes. Silently, Joshua took a knife from a drawer and went out the back door to the deck, and then down the deck stairs to the birch trees beyond, where Rowan liked them to cut their switches from. It was freezing outside, and dark, the cold hitting his burning skin and soothing it, almost, but only for a moment. Then the cold took on a bite of its own.

Joshua cut a switch and then went back inside, placing the knife in the sink. Misha was still in the kitchen. He ignored Joshua completely. As Joshua went up the stairs, though, Jensen was coming down them. As soon as Jensen saw Joshua he stopped, folded his hands in front of him, lowering his gaze. Waiting respectfully for his Handler to pass. 

Joshua went back to Rowan’s room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. When he entered, she stood an held out her hand for the switch. Joshua gave it to her, keeping his eyes downcast but his chin still up. Again, Rowan tested the switch against her own hand. “On your back, please,” she said, inclining her head towards the bed.

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, dreading it. This position. It was so vulnerable and humiliating. He lay on his back on the bed. “Legs up,” Rowan said, and he obeyed, drawing in a long breath, trying to ground himself. Rowan suddenly frowned and leaned forward, pressed her palm into his chest, just beneath his collar bone. “Are you cold? Would you like a blanket?”

Her tenderness, her concern, coupled with the position she had him in and what she was about to do him, was too much. He began to cry anew. “No ma’am,” he managed. “I’m all right.”

He was afraid Rowan would be annoyed or turned off by his tears, but she clearly wasn’t. She regarded him with unmistakeable affection and approval, running her palm across his forehead, brushing his hair. “When you stay here with me like this—letting me see everything—the tears, the nerves, the fear, the submission—it tells me so much about you, Joshua. It tells me how strong you are. It shows me what a good heart you have. It means so much to me, when you boys submit to me like this. You’re so brave.”

Joshua’s heart swelled at this unexpected shower of praise. “Thank you, Rowan,” he said quietly. She smiled softly. Then took a deep breath herself. 

“Alright. Hold your legs please, love. That’s right,” she said when he grabbed the backs of his thighs, exposing everything to her. “Keep your eyes on mine.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said, making the eye contact, trusting himself to her. Giving himself over completely.

“Deep breath,” she said, and touched the switch to his backside. Then, keeping her eyes on his, she began to switch him. The switch made a whizzing sound in the air before whipping against his flesh, hard, on the already punished skin. Joshua let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you ma’am,” he murmured. With her eyes still meeting his gaze, she switched him a second time, and then a third. Joshua grimaced, the tears slowing a bit. It was unlike him to cry even under the most vigorous punishments. After the third stroke, Rowan lowered her gaze to concentrate on her aim. He kept his eyes on hers but she focused on his backside, beating him hard. The pain of the switch was sharp and exact, Joshua tried to keep his breathing even but couldn’t help a little gasp here and there, until enough time had passed and the pain became very intense. Rowan turned her gaze back to him and whipped him especially hard, and he winced, letting her see all of it, and then she rained down a flurry of strokes upon his ass and he drew in a long gasp and began to cry again. 

“Thank you ma’am,” he said. Rowan switched him again, at full force, and Joshua moaned, and then she dropped the switch and picked up the belt. “Move your hands up,” she said, and he obeyed quickly, moving his hands to the backs of his knees. Rowan took the belt to the backs of his thighs, atop the switching and the paddling, strapping him hard, and rather than tensing up and trying to hold on, Joshua just let himself cry. Unabashedly cry.

Rowan stopped. She watched Joshua. He kept his eyes on her. She strapped him again, and then stopped. Joshua waited for more. 

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” she said. “It’s done.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joshua said. “Thank you for teaching it to me. I needed it.”

Rowan smiled. She put her hand gently on his throbbing bottom and rubbed gently, soothing the skin. “Well. As for keeping you constantly disciplined, this should last a few days, at least. You can lower your legs.”

Joshua lowered his legs and sat up slowly. He could feel Rowan withdrawing herself emotionally, creating the distance she had chosen to maintain as the household went through the period of altered roles that she had deemed necessary. It was in the way she pulled her body back, the straightening of her mouth and backbone, something akin to a veil going down over the light and warmth that had been in her eyes.

“You may return to your duties now, Joshua.”

Joshua nodded. “Thank you for your leadership, Sponsor West.” Then he stood and gathered his things, his shirt and pants and boxers, and took them down the hall to his own room to get dressed. As he walked away he felt tears gathering in his eyes again. These he did blink back. He regretted with his entire being the position they had put Rowan in. But there was nothing to do now but obey, and bear it.

 

The next day was Sunday, Joshua’s day to check in with Misha and Jensen. He and Misha worked in close contact with one another all week, and their Sunday meetings were more of a formality. But Joshua saw far less of Jensen, as he was usually at Rowan’s side and attending to her, so their Sunday’s were important. After lunch, they met in Joshua’s study. 

Rather than sitting behind the desk, Joshua took one of the comfortable chairs on the opposite side of the large room, the window behind him, and Jensen took another. Joshua took a deep breath. He wanted to stay very centered, considering his past with Jensen. He was determined to do better. “So. I understand you haven’t been on set in the pleasure slave role yet, Jensen. Would you like me to come to set tomorrow and Handle you?”

Jensen blinked, surprised. Did Joshua think he couldn’t handle himself on set? As if reading his mind, Joshua said, “I have no doubt in your abilities to conduct yourself properly. I just wanted you to know the option was there.”

Jensen thought about Joshua’s words on their first day back at home. If you fuck up, it’s on me. “I don’t want you to take my punishments for me, sir,” Jensen said. 

“I know that,” said Joshua. “And I never would. But if there was anything I could have done to avoid you being punished, and I failed to prevent it, I would ask for punishment for that. So I just want you to know that the option is always there—if you’re ever feeling on edge, you can ask me to Handle you, and I’ll take over. But I mean it when I say I have absolutely no doubt about your ability to Handle yourself. I could tell within my first few hours here that you—and Misha, both—were exemplary Males, and you still are.”

“What I did—“

“You made a mistake. We all do. It’s in our nature.”

Joshua’s confidence in Jensen was reassuring, and it made him feel safe enough to admit something that had been nagging at him.

“I—I have had some . . . concerns,” he began slowly. “About how exactly to act on set.” Joshua nodded. “I’ve never been a Pleasure Slave for Rowan before, and it requires a different sort of conduct.”

“What would you do if you were a brand new Pleasure Male to Rowan, and it was your first day on set?”

“It’s hard to say,” Jensen said. “Because most Pleasure Males aren’t allowed to work outside their Sponsor’s home. But I would attend to her, instead of going into my own trailer. I don’t know how hair and makeup would go—usually the P.A. would take me straight there, but if I’m attending on Rowan—what if I can’t, or—“ Jensen was starting to get worked up.

“Alright,” Joshua said calmly. “Is Rowan at all familiar with your morning routine on set?”

“Yes,” Jensen said. “I mean, she goes through the same routine herself.”

“Do you think she might give you permission to go get your hair and make up done?”

Jensen nodded, feeling sheepish but reassured. “Yes. I’m sure she will. Or just have me go through with her.”

“Okay. So that’s the morning. When you’re not in hair and makeup, you can attend to Rowan in her trailer, unless she dismisses you to your own. Then you get called to set and it’s time to film, right? What are your concerns there?”

Jensen thought about this. He was concerned, he just hadn’t put words to it. “Well—I don’t think she’ll expect me to play Dean any differently,” he said, and then paused.

“But you’re not sure.”

“I mean—I guess not. Because I don’t know how to play Dean AND be a Pleasure Male at the same time. It’s not a situation Dean would be in.”

“Would you like me to ask Rowan about it?”

Jensen was surprised to find himself nodding. 

“Okay,” Joshua said. “I’ll do that. Now, how about in between takes? What would you do if you were brand new? Would you kneel?”

“Not necessarily,” Jensen said. “I mean—only if that was my lady’s preference.”

“And how would you know if it was her preference?”

“She would tell me.”

“She’d tell you. Would you ask her?”

Jensen shook his head. “No. Probably not. I mean only if I was on very uncertain terms with her, for some reason—or if I sensed my Sponsor wasn’t comfortable giving direct orders.”

“Okay. And do either of those things apply to Rowan?”

“No.”

“No. So it’s probably safe to assume that if she wants you to kneel, she’ll tell you.”

“Yes,” Jensen said, confident now. “I think she will.”

“Okay. Are there any other moments you’re uncertain about?”

“I guess I just don’t know how subservient I should be. Some Sponsor’s want their Pleasurers always kneeling and silent unless spoken to. Others are so casual you might not even know you’re looking at a Pleasure Slave.”

“You’re a very skilled Pleasure Male, Jensen. Where on that scale do YOU think Rowan wants you to fall?”

Jensen took a deep breath. “In the middle. So far she seems to want me—attentive but easygoing. Focused on her but not silent.”

 

“Would she be upset to see you speaking to others?”

Jensen considered this. “No. Not once I was sure she was seen to.”

“I think you know how to find that balance, Jensen. It might challenge you, but it’s a challenge you can handle.”

Jensen looked at him for a moment. “Thank you,” he said. “That means a lot to me. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Okay.”

“Would you give me the strappings I require every three days? Misha has been taking care of them, but I feel like—since you’re my Handler, you should do it. And I need to learn,” Jensen swallowed hard. “To submit to you.”

Joshua was a little bit stunned. It was clear from Jensen’s words that Rowan hadn’t asked Jensen to see him yet—Jensen had decided to do that on his own. “Thank you, Jensen,” he said. “I’d be honored to handle that.”

Jensen nodded. “Okay. Today is the third day.”

Joshua took another deep breath. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jensen said.

“Okay.” Joshua stood up. “Please stand and go to the desk, Jensen.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, obeying quickly, with a little less measured grace than he usually carried. Joshua went to the cabinet and took out the basic strap. He turned to back to Jensen, who was standing in front of the desk with his hands crossed in front of him, not yet bent over, because Joshua had not yet ordered it.

“Please take position,” Joshua said. He didn’t need to tell Jensen to take his pants down because Jensen wasn’t wearing any. 

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, bending far over the desk, laying his chest flat against it. 

“That looks a little far for you,” Joshua said. The desk was pretty low. “Are you comfortable bracing on your palms?”

“Yes. Thank you, sir,” Jensen said, sounding relieved. He pressed up onto his palms, still presenting his backside for Joshua.

“Jensen, I’m going to give you the strapping that your Sponsor requires of you every third day. I’ll strap you long and hard enough to leave fresh marks. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, I do. Thank you for helping me comply with my Sponsor’s wishes.”

Jensen was being extraordinarily obedient. Joshua pulled Jensen’s underwear down gently, letting it fall to the floor, and then touched the strap to Jensen’s bottom. “Ready now,” he said, and began to strap Jensen.

He gave the first several strokes a medium amount of strength. Jensen’s breathing remained even and calm, his body not tensing up, which Rowan preferred. He didn’t make any sounds or give any obvious signs of pain. After about ten, Joshua increased the strength. He heard Jensen draw breath in hard through his nose. He increased his strength more—Jensen was required to bare stripes and Joshua needed to make sure the strapping would leave welts. “I’m going to strap you very hard now, and fast, and hopefully not more than twenty times, but we’ll see,” he said.

“Thank you sir, “ Jensen said. Joshua raised his arm high and brought the strap down with a punishing force against Jensen’s ass, aiming for one side, then the other—trying to hit the places his underwear wouldn’t cover. Jensen gasped again and then began to pant.

“I know that’s a habit of yours,” Joshua said, strapping Jensen hard across the thighs, again and again and again. “But it’s one I want you to start breaking.”

“Sir?” Jensen said, then groaned.

“The panting. Or fast breathing, it’s called sometimes. I want you to learn to accept your punishments with total submission and grace.”

“Y—yes sir,” Jensen said, and Joshua noted he attempted to stop panting, before taking the belt three times at incredible force across his thighs, and starting again.

“Better to go limp and cry,” Joshua said, and then he focused on the strapping, leaving Jensen to do as he would. Jensen let out a string of pained yelps until he started to cry, and it was just then that Joshua judged him to be adequately striped, so he stopped. Jensen gasped but held his place, waiting for more.

“It’s over,” Joshua said. “Very good, Jensen.”

“Thank you sir,” Jensen said, not moving. “I’m sorry about the panting.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I know it’s what you were taught in school to bear the pain with, I don’t expect you to drop it right away. But I’ve always thought it’s a way of fighting the pain rather than embracing it, and I’d like you to work on embracing it. Plus, Rowan seems to like it when you are just completely submitted.”

Jensen nodded. “You’re right. I’ll work on it. Thank you.”

“Thank you for coming to me. You can go.”

Jensen stood and pulled his underwear back up. Joshua glanced to make sure he was well striped on the flesh that wasn’t covered by it—he was—and turned to put the strap back in the closet. “I—I’ll return for more in three days.” Before Joshua could reply, he was gone.


	22. A Snowy Morning

Rowan woke with the first blue light of dawn. The first thing she noticed was the snow coming down outside the window, pale periwinkle on the trees and the forest floor in this earliest light. She burrowed down into her down comforter, relishing the cozy feel. The second thing she noticed was Jensen. He was still asleep on the bedroll between her and the window. After telling Jensen to put away the bed roll that first morning, she’d realized she wasn’t quite ready to have him sleeping beside her every night and had had to ask him to take it back out. He slept on it now in accordance with Rowan’s moods, which was not something she had been particularly proud of, until Gen had reminded her that emotions had their own logic and should be listened to, and that too much emphasis on logic had been one of the faults of the now fallen patriarchy. Rowan had had to admit that was true and had surrendered then to her moods. Sometimes she wanted Jensen right next to her, sometimes she didn’t. That was that.

Jensen was still asleep, which was so unlike him it gave Rowan pause. She had kept him up a bit late last night, she realized. After pleasuring her she’d sent him to run a mile, since she still required his abstinence from orgasm, and then he’d showered—Joshua watching him at his request, she knew, though Jensen hadn’t told her that—and had woken her despite his efforts at silence as he climbed into his bedroll. She was a light sleeper, Jensen had no idea how often he woke her. She could tell he was trying so hard not to, and it wasn’t his fault. She watched his form beneath his blanket, his back to her, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath, the snow falling peacefully outside the window beyond him.

Determined not to wake him—Jensen would be horrified to realize she had woken before him—Rowan rose from her bed, picked up her robe, and crept from the room, shrugging the robe on only once she was out in the hall. Luckily Jensen slept far more heavily than she did; it was a wonder he managed to wake before her at all. The house was dim and silent. Rowan was weary. The boys had just been so very much _work_ for her lately. Rather than providing the comforts Males were intended to provide, they had demanded from her one thing after another. Her discipline, her strength, her will power. Her inner iron. With misbehaving males, a Sponsor couldn’t relax. She couldn’t— _breathe_. She intended to go downstairs, get a coffee, and take some time for herself on this quiet morning. To try to gather some strength.

She passed Joshua’s room and Misha’s, where they each slept—or so she thought—and padded down the stairs into the kitchen. To Rowan’s surprise, Misha was there. His back was to her, he had only turned on the buttery light above the stove. Blue light around him, warm yellow light illuminating his shoulders. He hadn’t changed into his day wear yet, and was wearing only a blue t-shirt and his plaid pajama pants. His hands were spread out, placed lightly on either side of the counter. His head was bent slightly over the stove, where, Rowan saw, he was waiting for water to boil for coffee.

“Good morning,” she said, stepping into the kitchen.

Misha turned, raising his head. “Good morning,” he said gently, softly, not adding the ‘babe’ or ‘sweetheart’ that he would have added before Rowan had had to tighten the reins on her entire household. His face was unshaven and scruffy, his hair sweetly mussed. Rowan went towards him. Misha came toward her. Her first male, her beloved Misha. Throwing their new roles aside, Rowan allowed herself to be folded slowly into his chest, Misha’s arms coming gently around her to encircle her and hold her to him. She turned her head to the right, her face pressing into his pecs, taking in his warmth, his heart beat, that old familiar smell of Misha—the dusky floral cologne she bought for him combined with his own natural scent which was something like fresh hay and worn leather. Wrapped in his warmth, she breathed. Outside she could see the snow. She could smell the coffee brewing. Misha’s chest rose and fell in rhythm with her own.

They stood like that silently for a long time, Rowan drawing comfort from him. From his kindness, his strength, from the simple familiarity of Misha. They’d been through so much together.

“Misha,” she said regretfully after awhile. “We can’t . . . “ _be like we used to be_ , was what she left unspoken. _Not now_.

“I know,” he said gently, his deep voice husky with morning. “Just—for right now, let me. I won’t tell the others.”

Rowan nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. She loved Jensen and Joshua, but sometimes she missed the simplicity of the way things had been when it was just her and Misha, who had only rarely set a toe over the line—he had bad moods, like any male, that sometimes got the best of him, but had generally been an exemplary male. She was sure that Misha, in his heart of hearts, sometimes missed those times as well, although he had never said it, and never would, she knew. Just like she knew he didn’t mean anything mutinous, he simply meant that he wouldn’t give her away, her moment of weakness, her allowing him to hold her like this.

Her hand ran down his back and underneath the line of Misha’s boxer-briefs almost against her will. Misha just waited, giving her space to decide if she wanted to follow through on that urge or not. Rowan’s body decided it did. She slid her hand further, beneath the line of his underwear, over the smooth skin of his ass. Misha was currently her only male with an unmarked ass. She tilted her face up toward Misha’s and he lowered his head and she kissed him. He moved his hands gently up her back, his fingers dancing over the sensitive skin on her neck, and into her hair, gripping it just slightly. She kissed him deeply. Need took over her, fast. She wanted his whole body, wanted the comfort of him, the solidity, the familiarity. They swayed, and then Rowan jumped and Misha caught her under her bottom, his fingers digging into her flesh there, her legs wrapping around his waist tightly, holding herself up even as he held her, one arm beneath her, one at her back. Misha held her, kissing her back, and then took her to the island and set her on it. He stood back and looked at her. Rowan reached out, grabbed him, pulled him toward her. She peeled off his shirt and then they were kissing fiercely, hands gripping and roaming, hungry for eachother, desperate. She pulled off her shirt and put his hands on her breasts, and Misha stroked them, his fingers careful on the tender flesh, thumbing her nipples. Rowan’s head went back, she moaned, and Misha kissed the soft flesh of her throat. He moved his mouth down her body, kissing her clavicle, between her breasts, the tips of her breasts, her soft stomach. When he reached her waist he put his hands beneath her waistband and looked to her for permission. Rowan pushed her hands into the surface of the island and lifted her ass and Misha tugged her pajama bottoms and underwear down. Looking at her, straight into her eyes, he pushed her thighs wider apart, one to each side, and then bent so he could kiss her there, between her legs, where Rowan was already wet and throbbing.

Misha’s mouth on her sacred opening, Rowan leaned back onto her elbows. “Here darling,” Misha said, standing. He went to the couch and got two pillows, placing one beneath her head and the other he situated beneath her hips, allowing him deeper access to her. Rowan lay stretched on the marble, relishing his tenderness, his consideration. Then he bent and put his mouth on her again, kissing her, licking her opening. He pulled back and massaged gently with his thumbs—Misha knew her body the exact way one does after so many years together—moving his fingers in gentle circles before going back to his lips, his tongue. Rowan moaned, her heels on the island, her knees splayed open, inner thighs rotating up. The wave built and built. She ran her hands in his hair, gripping. Misha’s expert fingers, so delicate and clever. His full, beautiful lips on her lips, his tongue on her most senstive spot. “Oh god,” she said. “Oh god!” Misha blew cool air onto her folds and then pressed his tongue to her clit again, pressing hard, pulling back to use his lips with slightly more force, and the hot wave building inside of Rowan crested and folded over, and she came in a series of smaller waves, clenching her opening, her belly, her gut, running all the way up her body and back down, coming, coming, coming hard.

Breathless, she lay splayed across the kitchen island, closing her eyes and allowing the aftermath of the orgasm to continue lapping at her the way it did, leaving her body slowly, by increments. Misha waited patiently, watching her. After a moment he placed his hands back on her thighs and rubbed them, adoringly. “I love you so much, Ro,” he said. “Nothing, and no one, will ever take away from that.”

Rowan smiled and pulled him to her. “I shouldn’t let you on top of me right now. With our new rules.”

“I know,” Misha said respectfully.

“So don’t tell the others,” she said, pulling him over her, too tired to get up and move atop him. “Enter me.”

Misha hadn’t expected his own orgasm and his face showed deep emotions. Love, gratitude, a sense of being granted something he didn’t feel he deserved. He did as she told him, climbing atop her on the island, entering her slowly. She enjoyed the plain gratitude and desire on his face as he began to thrust into her. She kept her eyes open—and so did he, letting her see him. He gazed at her with a serious expression, reminding her a little bit of Cas. She watched his eyes roam, taking her in, like he couldn’t quite believe the gift he’d been given. When he came, he closed his eyes only for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. She wrapped her legs around his back and watched as his own pleasure over took him.

After he finished, Misha stayed propped up on his elbows, gazing at her. He brushed her hair from her face. They both caught their breath, watching eachother, fingers stroking one another mindlessly.

“Jensen’s still asleep,” Rowan said after awhile. “He’ll be horrified if he realizes.”

Misha pushed himself up off the island. “Go on up. I’ll bring you both some coffee.”

Rowan stood, stepping back into her pajamas and her robe. “Thank you darling.” She paused, watching him set about making a fresh press of coffee. “It won’t be this way forever, you know.”

Misha turned back to her, smiling gently. “I know. But even if it was—I’m yours. Always.”

Rowan felt herself beaming at him. They had needed this. Both of them.

Upstairs in her bedroom, Jensen was still asleep. The sun was just up, daylight beginning to break through the window. Rowan took off her robe and climbed back into bed. Once she was settled, she made just the slightest sound, clearing her throat, and watched Jensen’s shoulders stir as he woke. She shut her eyes and opened her mouth, knowing his first move would be to check on her. She heard him rise from his bedroll and go into the bathroom. He shut the door silently behind himself and she heard the shower start. Rowan waited, feeling flushed, satisfied, and content, listening to Jensen in the shower, watching the snow. A while later, Jensen emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his pleasure slave wear—Rowan would tell him to put on his sweatpants today, and let him relax--just as Misha came to the bedroom door, carrying a tray with coffee and bagels and fruit.

“Ro?” Misha said softly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”


	23. A Morning Session Goes Wrong, and then Wrong Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends--this story is going to be just pretty much plotless spanking porn for the next few chapters. I have some more plotted stuff I'm working on, but it wouldn't make sense to put the new stuff I'm working on before all this. So I hope you enjoy this next bit. It's basically just Rowan setting her household straight again with lots of spankings and such, before more stuff can happen. Okay thanks for reading. xoxo

The boys were sitting around the kitchen eating breakfast when Rowan came home. She had gone out the night before and had ended up spending the night at Gen's, leaving the boys home to catch up on chores and rest. After they greeted one another, Rowan turned her eye to Jensen and said “Jensen, you’ll rest today, but we’ll still hold our morning routine upstairs now.”

A warm feeling rushed over Jensen. Until he felt it, he didn’t know how deeply he craved the morning spankings, the time spent with her. “Thank you ma’am,” he said sincerely. Rowan blinked, her eyebrows drawing together just a fraction of an inch, thoughtfully, and Jensen wondered if he’d misstepped. But she turned and went upstairs and he followed her.

It wasn’t until he was over her knee on the bed that Rowan said, “Are you enjoying your spankings, Jensen?”

There was a note of consternation in her voice and Jensen realized his mistake. The spankings were meant to be a reminder of his place, a discipline, not something he enjoyed and craved. There was more to it than that, but his Sponsor had asked him a simple question, so he started with a simple answer.

“Yes ma’am,” he said softly. He prepared to be punished. 

“Elaborate,” said Rowan. 

Jensen took a moment to gather his thoughts. He was grateful she was giving him a chance to explain himself further. “I enjoy being able to serve you in this way. Any order you give me that I can follow is a relief for me, because I’m desperate to serve you well, and to make you happy. A spanking is an easy way to do that--to serve and show my submission. I am grateful for that. I enjoy,” he swallowed, worried but determined to tell the truth. “These moments alone with you, in contact with you. It’s a stress relief for me to be taken in hand. I don’t enjoy the pain. I don’t enjoy the reminder of what I’ve done to deserve this. It’s not simple, but. They do provide some relief to me.” He almost ended with an apology, but stopped himself, realizing the blame would ultimately point back to Rowan.

“I understand,” she said. She paused a moment. “I don’t want to deny you the pleasure of serving me. It’s good that you take pleasure in that, and I hope you will continue to do so. I don’t mean to deny you pleasures or joy. However. Your morning discipline sessions are meant to be a reminder. Both of what you’ve done to necessitate this, and of your altered position in the household. Not lowered position, but altered. Do you understand that?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said.

“I don’t wish to end the spankings,” Rowan said. “but I would like you to--perhaps look forward to them less. I’d like you even to be a little nervous about them, and then have to submit through your nerves. Does that make sense?”

“Yes ma’am.” Of course it did. That more or less summed up Jensen’s entire existence. Submitting to things he was nervous about submitting to. 

“Good. So I’m going to increase the severity a bit. I’ll start out spanking you, but then I’m going to move to the brush. Sometimes I’ll end with the belt. I think I know your line between pleasure and pain. But I’m going to ask you to please let me know if I fail to cross it.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. “I will.”

With that, Rowan began to spank him. Jensen took a deep breath and let his body go limp as her palm came down across his buttocks, and then again and again, quickly. He prepared himself to be truly punished instead of spanked to a pleasurable heat. The trick to taking a thing like this was to totally accept it, to not allow any thoughts about why, and Jensen didn’t. He didn’t want to wonder why, he wanted to submit to her fully and wholeheartedly, body and mind. He was hers to command. 

The spanking was brisk and intense and Jensen could already tell it was going to be different from the past week’s worth he’d spent over her knee. He exhaled through his teeth as she spanked him. It was only a few minutes before he let out a little groan. He sensed she wouldn’t give him a long warm up, and he was right. Just after the groan, the spanking paused. Next Jensen felt the back of the wooden hairbrush on his skin gently for a brief moment, and then Rowan began spanking him with the brush, hard. It hurt. Jensen let out a long groan and went limp.

“Very good,” Rowan said, and continued paddling him with the brush. Her voice was a comfort. Staring down at the light, thick carpet of Rowan’s bedroom, Jensen began to writhe, wiggling his hips against her thighs. He was aroused. “Sorry,” he whispered. His jeans were sliding off his ankles.

Rowan paused. “You won’t ever be punished for arousal. That is still true.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you.” Jensen had barely finished speaking before she began spanking him again. It went on and on, until Jensen was panting. Finally the pain became too intense, Rowan’s punishment severe, and he began to cry. His arousal wore off with the discomfort. He expected her to stop now that he was crying, but she didn’t. She kept going. She spanked him particularly hard and he jerked, his arms and legs stiffening.

“Jensen,” Rowan said, pausing. Her voice was disapproving. “That was dangerously close to a flinch.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jensen said, and meant it. “Please punish me for it, ma’am.”

“You were expecting the punishment to end once you started crying.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never had this issue with you before. I’ve had it with Joshua, but not with you.”

Jensen wasn’t sure if he should speak. He did. “My training taught me never to anticipate the end of a punishment. I forgot my training temporarily, and failed it. Please discipline me for that, ma’am. I need it.”

“So you knew better than to anticipate the end, but you did it anyway.” Rowan’s voice was somber. “Yes ma’am,” said Jensen, beginning to understand that, to his Sponsor, this matter was grave.

“I’m going to have to give you the strap, Jensen. And the rice. To make up for your misstep, you won’t be told how long to expect to suffer through either.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jensen said, crying, his ass aching and blazing, beating like a heart, as he stared down at the carpet, wondering how he’d managed to screw up so badly already. “I’m sorry I failed you. Thank you for correcting me.”

“You haven’t failed. You just need a reminder.” Without warning, she brought the hairbrush down on his butt again. Jensen exhaled deeply but didn’t flinch. She continued spanking him, and he went limp, and resigned himself to a long day of punishment.

Rowan only spanked him a few more times before she stopped and said, “Go get the belt.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, and pushed himself off her knees with as much grace as possible, sliding first to his own knees before rising to a stand. His ass was blazing but he wasn’t crying, perhaps because he knew the worst was yet to come. He went to his drawer and pulled out the belt, their standard strapping instrument unless she specified the heavy strap, which was--well, heavier. He went down on one knee and offered it up to Rowan across his palms, keeping his head bowed. “Lay down on the bed. Put a pillow under your hips.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, and obeyed. 

“Ready now,” she said, and then the belt whizzed in the air before meeting with the flesh of his bottom. 

Jensen jerked, pushing up off his stomach and onto his palms.

“Jensen!” Rowan’s voice was a shocked admonition. He’d never heard her say his name that way before.

“Oh my god--I’m so sorry ma’am. Please punish me--ma’am, I’m so sorry. Please beat me severely, I need a severe beating. I can take it--I’ll be good--”

“Quiet,” she commanded. Jensen clamped his mouth shut, shaking. He felt sick to his stomach. He had to stop himself from moaning out with the terrible regret and shame he felt, knowing it would only bring him further shame. 

Behind him he heard Rowan push the buzzer on the intercom. “Misha, Joshua. Please come to my room.”

Jensen was quivering. Was she going to ask them to escort him out? What the hell was the matter with him? At this time, when it was most important for him to be on his very best behavior, to be perfect, now he would start flinching? He wanted to beg her forgiveness. It was torture, not to speak.

She sighed, seeming to recognize his agony. “You’re going to be disciplined, Jensen. You’re not conducting yourself in the way you’re capable of. That’s all. You’re not losing any status. You just need some correction. This is to be expected, from time to time. Say yes ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. It came out distressed. Rowan ignored that. He couldn’t believe what a mess he was.

“Ma’am?” Joshua’s voice from the doorway.

“Boys. Over the course of his discipline, Jensen has flinched twice. This isn’t like him, and we need to address it. Joshua, if you will please sit on the bed and hold down Jensen’s wrists. Don’t hold his hands--pin his arms at the wrist. That’s right.” Jensen kept his head turned to the side, in utter and complete humiliation, as Joshua sat cross-legged at the head of the bed, securing Jensen’s arms down. The way Rowan was so matter-of-fact about it unintentionally made it worse. He couldn’t even bear up under discipline, show how honorable he was. He could only lay here, completely submitted. 

“Misha, if you could stand here and hold his legs down at the ankles. Very good. Jensen, do you understand why I’ve asked your fellow males to hold you down?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. “Because I’ve completely disgraced myself.”

Rowan smacked the belt into Jensen’s ass. He flinched against Joshua and Misha’s hold. They held him. It was an enormous relief. “You are not in disgrace. You are in need of correction. He’s going to be strapped until I decide it’s time to stop,” Rowan said to Misha and Joshua, preparing them for the long haul, and then she said to Jensen, “Ask me for it.”

Jensen had started to cry. Why was he such a mess? He tried to keep his voice even. “Please strap me with the belt to correct my behavior, ma’am. Please punish me hard enough to teach me to conduct myself properly.”

Rowan did. She raised the belt and slammed it into his ass, again and again and again. Jensen did flinch, occasionally, against Misha and Joshua, and their strong hands held him down. It wasn’t long until his crying intesified. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m so sorry.” Rowan didn’t answer. Normally she would talk him through a beating, but now she said nothing. Through the pain, Jensen was aware of Joshua’s hands on his wrists, Misha’s on his ankles. Normally, one of them might try to talk him through this himself, but now, with everything on such shaky ground, he knew they wouldn’t dare. He tried to root himself in the feeling of their hands around him. Each stroke was intensely painful, and they kept coming, one after another, relentless. He had no way of knowing when it would end. He jerked and jerked against Joshua and Misha’s hold until finally, finally, he surrendered. Sobbing into the white comforter, he went totally limp. He didn’t clutch the sheets or strain against the hold. He didn’t even writhe his ass. He lay there, totally surrendered, dizzy with pain, alone. The beating continued. After five more strokes, ten, he stopped crying. The beating continued.

“Jensen?” Rowan said. 

“Yes ma’am?” It took him a moment too long to reply. Jensen had to struggle to raise his voice. 

“Who decides when your punishments are over?”

“You do, ma’am. You’re my commander. I submit to you fully.”

“I can see that,” Rowan said, and the beating stopped. Jensen was panting, yet all his muscles were fully relaxed and subdued. His entire backside was pulsating with fire. 

Rowan sat down on the bed next to him and put her hand on the back of his head. “Good boy,” she said quietly. “Joshua, have you ever had an issue with Jensen flinching away from his punishments in the past?”

“No ma’am,” said Joshua. “He has always submitted with near perfection.”

“Do you have any insight as to why he’s struggling with it now?”

Joshua was quiet for a moment. Then: “I believe it’s because his confidence is low, ma’am. He doesn’t trust himself to handle a punishment.” Jensen lay there, listening. The pain had put him beyond any ability to be embarrassed at them discussing him this way. For a few moments nobody spoke. Misha released Jensen’s ankles. Jensen could feel Misha’s psychic reluctance to, but didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. There was silence for a few long moments. Then Rowan said, “Jensen, do you think you can stand up now?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. “I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“Thank you,” Rowan said sincerely. It was like an arrow to Jensen’s heart. “Please take position.”

Jensen did as he was told, pushing himself from the bed and moving gracefully to the floor, where he knelt before Rowan. “What do you need now, honey?”

“The rice please, ma’am.”

“That’s right. Joshua. Would you please speak to Jensen as his handler? He needs to know he is capable of submitting to a full discipline session.”

“Of course. Jensen,” Joshua said firmly, commandingly. “Give me your eyes.” Jensen obeyed. “You are in need of some correction. This is appropriate and understandable for every male from time to time. We ask ourselves to be perfect even as we know that perfection is impossible. Remember the first law of service?”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, and recited: “Without exception, every male will be at times in need of correction, as our nature requires it.”

“That’s right. The time has come for your correction and I expect you to accept it in utter submission and with all the strength I know you are capable of. Do you understand me, Jensen?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’ve taken severe discipline sessions in the past, haven’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you’ve survived them. Now you will take this. Show us how strong you are. This is how you show us.”

“Yes sir.”

“I want you to obey your Sponsor with the utmost integrity and strength. I know you can. You are hers. You are a male of Household Rowan West and that is no small honor. Trust your Sponsor.”

“I do sir. I will.”

“Follow me to the kitchen,” Rowan said. Jensen said “Yes ma’am” and obeyed her, not watching to see what Joshua and Misha would do. Joshua’s words had reminded him of what a prestigious household he belonged to, and he knew Joshua’s intended message--you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t one of the best. Though he wouldn't say it quite like that in front of Rowan, it was true. Rowan would not have accepted less than the best into her household. Misha and Joshua were proof of that. And, as Joshua was reminding Jensen, so was he.

Rowan took a scoop of rice and scattered in on the kitchen floor, in the corner. “Submit yourself, Jensen.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jensen said with the utmost submission and humility he could summon. He was already in his Pleasure Slave wear, briefs and a tank top, so he didn’t need to remove his pants. He lowered himself onto the rice, straightened his shoulders, and clasped his hands behind his head. 

“Thank you, Jenny. You may lower your arms. When your time is up, I’ll let you know.”

Jensen obeyed, lowering his arms to clasp his hands behind his lower back, loving the way she’d called him Jenny. He breathed in that small show of affection and anchored himself in it, listened to her footsteps walking away, and knowing that he was going to be in this position, the rice already pricking at his skin, for a very long time. 

 

Hours passed. Jensen sweat and shook. He didn’t know how long he’d been here, and he didn’t dare make a guess. He heard footsteps but knew they weren’t Rowan’s. They were Joshua’s. In a moment his Handler was beside him. 

“Turn your head. Protein butter.”

Jensen obeyed, turning his head to the side, keeping his hands where they were. He opened his mouth. Joshua squirted in a package of protein butter—just sweetened almond butter, really, with extra protein. It tasted good, and the sensation was a welcome distraction from the pain all over his body, but more immediately in his knees. After Jensen swallowed the protein butter, Joshua held a straw to his lips, and let Jensen take a long drink of water. “Do you need to pee?”

“No sir.”

“Hold your position, Jensen,” Joshua said firmly. “Be strong.” Jensen had known not to expect tenderness. Joshua’s intention was to shore him up, to make sure he stayed strong. Tenderness wouldn’t help him now, when he was being tested, but had so far to go.

More time passed. The battle became mental. Jensen employed the techniques he’d learned in training to deal with this kind of punishment. He recited passages he had memorized in his head. When that stopped working, he went to mantras. My punishment is temporary. I am strong. I obey. Finally, to his own distress, Jensen started crying. He had never cried on the rice before. He also knew Rowan had never kept him on the rice for this long. It was dark. The house was quiet, there was no noise from upstairs. Jensen was in pain and felt alone. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he gasped a little. He wasn’t going to make it. He was suddenly terrified. He couldn’t make it any longer. He was going to pitch forward onto his hands and be forced to decide between letting her find him that way, or straightening when he heard her approach and lying--but what was he thinking? He could never lie to Rowan. He’d fall and take his punishment. He had no other choice.

Footsteps. Oh god. Jensen didn’t dare let himself believe it was over.

“It’s all right to cry,” Rowan said. Matter-of-factly. “But you must stay strong. What level Sponsor am I, Jensen?”

Jensen’s brain couldn’t really keep up. “You’re a level 9, my R--ma’am. My mistress.”

Rowan ignored his slip. “You don’t get to be a level 9 Sponsor without knowing the limits of your males. I know you think you are at your limit. I know you think you’re about to collapse. But you’re not. Say yes ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m not at my limit. Say it.”

“I’m not at my limit.”

“Good.” And she left him again. His tears dried up. 

More time. 

Every inch of Jensen’s body ached and screamed.

He swayed.

He wasn’t going to make it. His head felt light. He closed his eyes and it was hard to open them.

He couldn’t open them.

“Your time is up,” Rowan’s voice and then Joshua’s arms around him the moment, the very moment, he began to pitch forward. 

“I gotcha. I gotcha.” Joshua’s voice, calm and low in his ear. “Sit back. Lean on me.”

Jensen did. There was no other choice. He swayed backwards and collapsed against Joshua’s chest, his knees shaking. Joshua reached forward and brushed the grains of rice that were embedded into Jensen’s skin away, ignoring Jensen’s hiss of pain. “It’s better to get them out now,” he said calmly. He handed Jensen a water bottle. Jensen’s hands wrapped around it and he shakily brought it to his lips and drank. Rowan slid to the floor in front of him, her back against the wall.

“You were perfect, Jensen. I’m so proud of you. You were so strong.” Jensen nodded, not trusting his voice. Rowan knew. She reached out and took his hand. “You can rest in us now, honey. You don’t have to be strong anymore. You were very strong for a very long time, Jensen.” Jensen nodded and felt a few tears slip out. He was trembling. 

“I will never take you past what you can handle, honey. You didn’t think you could handle that long. But you did.”

“You were so strong,” Joshua said. “You made your Handler proud.”

“Thank you Rowan,” Jensen said. “Thank you, Joshua.”

“How long did you think your max was on the rice?” Rowan said.

“Six hours,” Jensen answered. He never imagined Rowan would ask of him more than that.

“You just took ten.”

Jensen’s eyes widened. He took another sip of the water. 

“You should have the highest confidence in yourself. That’s what I want you to take away from all this. That was the point of all this. Confidence in me, and in yourself. I won’t ever give you more than you can take. And you--you can take anything I ask of you.”

“I understand now. Thank you, Row.”

“Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll take you upstairs. Thank you, Joshua.”

Joshua released his hold around Jensen--it hurt to be let go of, with their new orders he was hungry for affection--and Jensen pushed himself to his feet. He followed Rowan upstairs and into her room. 

"Sit down, darling," she said. Jensen sat obediently on the bed, exhausted, totally spent. Rowan went into the bathroom and Jensen heard her starting a bath. She came back out to the bed and held out her hand to Jensen. He took it, and she lead him into the bathroom, stopping at the edge of the bath. Fragrant oil had been poured in the bath and was scenting the room. Rowan took the bottom of Jensen's shirt and peeled it off him, Jensen raising his arms to allow her. Then she bent to gently pull his underwear often and Jensen nearly cried at the tenderness. 

"Ro--"

"Let me," she said, kneeling to remove his underwear fully. He stepped out of them and Rowan placed her lips on his lower abdomen, giving him one feathery kiss. Then she stood again, and held his hand as he stepped into the bath. The hot water on his aching thighs and glutes was heavenly. There were no open sores on his back, so the water provided nothing but relief.

"I'm going out," Rowan said. "Stay here as long as you'd like. Then get into my bed and feel free to watch TV or read or do whatever you'd like. Misha will bring you some dinner. Don't wait up for me."

"Okay. Thank you my--Ro. I love you so much." Being punished so thoroughly always left Jensen a bit open and raw.

Rowan smiled down at him. "I love you too, sweetheart."

And then she left him, punished, sated, and soothed, to rest.


	24. On Set

Their night before the first day back to work, Rowan asked Jensen to sleep on the bed roll beside her bed. “Of course,” he said, gently. He would never presume that he was owed a place in her bed, and he didn’t want her to feel bad about asking him to sleep next to her rather than in bed with her. He’d rather be there in her room, anyway, then sent back to his own bed. “Roxy will be here at 4 am to pick us up, so let’s handle your morning spanking on set tomorrow. I don’t want to get up any earlier than we already have to,” Rowan said.  
“Yes ma’am,” Jensen had replied.  
In the morning, Roxy arrived right on time to drive them to set. Joshua had apparently decided to stay behind, but he was up making coffee. Jensen arrived downstairs in the kitchen in his Pleasure slave wear, a shirt and his black briefs. When Joshua turned to hand him a mug of coffee, Jensen thought he saw the man’s eyebrows pinch, just slightly. But Joshua said nothing and Jensen couldn’t be sure. Jensen took a deep breath and settled his energy. He had been preparing mentally for arriving on set in pleasure wear for days. Misha came down next and said nothing about Jensen’s dress—or undress. Didn’t even seem to notice it. When Roxy honked the horn Rowan came hurrying down the stairs, hair wet from a quick shower, no makeup on whatsoever, wearing jeans and sneakers. “Thank you,” she said sighed gratefully as Joshua handed her a mug of coffee. “Ready?” she said to Misha and Jensen, turning to the door—and then quickly turning back and glancing at Jensen.

“Darling,” she said. “I’m grateful for the submission and the obedience you’re showing right now. Very grateful.” She paused just briefly, and said, “You have my permission to wear pants to set, every day. And a sweatshirt and jacket too, it’s freezing. Go get changed. I’ll tell Roxy you’ll be right out.”  
“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, hurrying up the stairs to his own bedroom, grabbing a pair of dark gray joggers and quickkly shrugging into a sweatshirt and his winter jacket. “Have a good day,” Joshua said as Jensen went out the door. “You got this.”

When they arrived, the base camp PA was there to open the door for Rowan. “Good morning, good morning!” she said loudly in her usual sing-song voice. PAs always seemed to be burning at a hotter temperature than everyone else on set, capable of being loud and energetic at 2 and 3 and 4 am, whether they had just woken up or were about to finally go to sleep.

“Good morning, Zeb,” Rowan said. To everyone else she was known as Zebra, but Rowan thought it was ridiculous and refused. No one knew her real name, or if her actual name was Zebra. Jensen knew Rowan was not a huge fan of Zebra, who did tend to speak to Rowan in an extra nasal, extra sing-songy way, but Rowan did a pretty good job of keeping those feelings to herself. “Jensen will be spending his mornings in my trailer for now.”

“Copy that,” Zebra said. “Morning, Jay.” Zebra called Jensen and Jared both Jay, unless she was forced to use their actual names to avoid confusion.

“Good morning, Zeb,” Jensen said. He had very nearly called her ‘ma’am,’ but just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not because he didn’t respect Zebra—the PAs worked their asses off, he knew that—but because their relationship had been so casual for so long. He glanced at Rowan; she didn’t seem to have noticed. 

“Morning Zebra,” Misha said, getting out of the other side of the car.

“What up Mish? Good break?”

“Mostly good. We gave Rowan sort of a hard time, I’m afraid. You?”

“I don’t know how she handles you three. You know me, just glad to be back making magic.”

As Jensen followed Rowan to her trailer, he heard Zebra get on the walkie talkie and say:

“Numbers one, two, and four have landed. One and Two both going to be in Rowan’s trailer mornings from here out.” Rowan was their lead—Number One. Jensen and Jared were Two and Three, Misha was Four. The new routine was that simple. Zebra hadn’t batted an eye.

Rowan and Jensen put their things down in their trailer. Jensen set up the essetial oil diffuser Rowan liked to run with rose and vanilla oil and turned it on. He had barely flipped it on when Zebra knocked on the door. “They’re ready for you both in hair,” she called.

“All right,” Rowan called back. She looked at Jensen. “I’ll have to spank you after, I suppose.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen answered. He’d been spanked on set before. They all had—he, Misha, Jared. It was natural. He followed Rowan to the hair trailer where Jeannie was waiting for him. The makeup and hair trailers were peaceful spots on the otherwise completely chaotic set—they always had coffee brewing, music playing, candles burning or essential oil diffusers going. More often than not there were snacks. Some healthy and some indulgent, Jensen allowed himself the second kind on occasion. Rowan was relaxed and didn’t seem to be keeping too close of an eye on Jensen, so he allowed himself to relax, just a little, as he chatted with Jeannie, asking about her break, her kids, her Male Mattie, who was Crimson’s apprentice in Make up. They went through hair and makeup, Lauren bringing them their usual coffees and breakfasts, and then headed back to Rowan’s trailer. Annie had stopped by and left Rowan’s wardrobe, and Jensen’s next to it, hanging in the small closet. Apparently, then, she had received the memo that Jensen would be in Rowan’s trailer and not his own.   
“All right,” Rowan said. “Quickly, before we change.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, as Rowan glanced around and then settled on the center of trailer’s excuse for a couch, where she often took an afternoon nap. Jensen pushed down his joggers and his briefs and settled himself across Rowan’s lap. Before she could begin to spank him, there was another knock on the door. 

“They’ll be ready for you on set in twenty, ma’am,” Zebra said.

“All right. We need ten minutes privacy, please send it out.”

“Copy that,” Zebra said. “Rowan needs ten minutes privacy in her trailer . . . “ she said into the walkie, her voice fading as she walked away.

“Has Zeb ever seen you being disciplined?” Rowan asked, her hand resting lightly on Jensen’s ass.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’ll try to keep it that way,” Rowan said darkly, clearly annoyed with Zebra. “Let’s do a timed spanking.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. Rowan grabbed her phone and Jensen knew she was setting the timer. “All right. Ten minutes. Here we go.”

She spanked him briskly and hard, switching to a wooden hairbrush after about the first fifty swats. Jensen’s body rocked with the rhythms of the blows. The hair brush on his bare ass was far more intense than her hand, and as the pain began to build he unconsciously put his knuckle in his mouth and bit down, trying to keep from crying out.

“Get your hand out of your mouth, Jensen, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Jensen said, startling. God, he was acting like some first year trainee. 

“If they hear you, they hear you. That’s the nature of the situation you’re in. If you start getting lazy trying to prevent them from hearing you, I”ll have to take steps to make sure they do hear you. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am, off course,” Jensen said, grunting slightly with the blows. “I’m sorry.”

Rowan sighed, capitulating a little. “I mean I know it’s the first morning spanking you’ve had on set. But it’s still just a spanking.” A spanking that didn’t let up at all as she spoke.

“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry. I’ll work to take my spankings with more submission and dignity.” Dignity, for a male, meant sort of the opposite of what it usually meant. It meant not trying to hide the fact that he was being disciplined from those around him. Letting them see him take his punishments submissively and unashamedly. Letting those around him hear him moan, and grunt, and cry and wail if necessary. Let them know he was a well discliplined Male. Something, Jensen knew, he needed to work on. Rowan went to lengths to protect him from public punishment, and she shouldn’t have to. Eventually he was going to have to get used to them, and take them the way Misha did. With obedience and dignity.

“Good,” Rowan said, and spanked a little harder. Jensen grunted and rocked on her knee, finally gasping. A few tears rolled out. Crimson would have to fix his eye makeup. Finally, as tears were rolling down his cheeks and Jensen heard himself making little gasping noises, the timer went off. Rowan stopped spanking the moment it did. She rubbed Jensen’s back as he caught his breath.

 

That afternoon, Brianna arrived on set to shoot a scene as Donna. Jensen spotted her on his way back from the bathroom and went toward her. She saw him coming and grinned hugely at him. 

"Heyyyy, Bee!" Jensen said warmly. Then, rather than opening his arms for a hug, as he might have before, when he reached her he went down on one knee, hands folded behind his back, head lowered.

"Jenny!" Brianna said. "Look at you." Her tone was appreciative. She touched beneath his chin with her hand, tilting his head up to meet her eyes. "So formal. I like it."

Jensen smiled. "My only aim," he said. Brianna ruffled his hair appreciatively.

"What's the deal? Stand up, babe."

"Yes ma'am," he said, in the friendly, jocular way he reserved for his and Rowan's female friends. "I'm serving Rowan as a Pleasure Slave now," he said. He was a bit surprised to hear the words leave his own mouth so easily. He had been so worried that others would see him differently. Yet here he was, his first day on set in this role, and it just slipped out.

"Jensen," Brianna breathed. "Really? That's wonderful. You must be so happy."

"I am," Jensen said, just as Rowan reached his side. She was smiling at him, a warm appreciation glowing in her eyes. Jensen flushed, warm with her approval. 

Then Rowan turned her attention to Brianna. "Bee!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms open. Jensen watched the two women hug. "I've missed you!"

"I've missed you so much," Brianna said. 

"I have so much to tell you," said Rowan.

"Looks like it," Brianna said, quirking her eyebrow at Rowan. 

Zebra was there suddenly, talking into her radio, then to Brianna. "Welcome to set, ma'am. We need you in hair. And Ms. West, we need you on set in five," she sang in her nasal voice. Jensen watched Rowan suppress an eyeroll with amusement.

"Are you here all week?"

 

"Not going anywhere til Sunday."

"Perfect. Come over Friday for drinks."

 

 

“I should have let him mentor my first night with Joshua,” Rowan sighed, sipping the sparkling rosé Gen had popped open. She had finished recounting to Brianna the story of the boys' misbehavior over the hiatus. “It’s that simple. Stroked his ego just a little bit. You know I’m not against a little ego stroking, when they’re being good.”

Gen raised one eyebrow. “Will he be getting anything else stroked anytime soon?” she said wickedly over the rim of her glass.

Brianna choked on her wine, nearly spitting it out. Rowan’s mouth fell open in scandalized amusement. “Can you really tell?”

“Of course I can tell,” Genevieve said. “Jensen shows everything. But especially when you’re not letting him come. He gets this extra little furrow between his brow,” she touched the spot on herself, right between her eyebrows. 

“And the puppy dog eyes come out in full force," Brianna added. She mimicked the expression a bit. A sort of extra attentive, hopeful shine in doleful eyes.

“Oh my god,” Rowan said, dissolving into laughter. “Ssshhh, don’t let him hear you, he’ll be mortified.”

“Too late, I’m afraid.” A male voice behind them—Misha’s. Rowan turned to see him standing next to Jensen in the doorway leading out to the foyer. Misha looked apologetic. Jensen kept his gaze down. “I wanted to announce our presence before we went further, I’m sorry. We were just passing through for some water.”

“Oh my god, Jensen, I don’t—I mean we weren’t—“ Rowan stopped and drew herself up a little taller in her seat. She didn’t owe stuttering explanations to her males, especially not to males who had so recently been so far out of line. But nor would she lash out at them for simply being in their own home like another woman might. “I’m sorry, boys. You two caught a bit of the women’s discussion. Don’t worry about it.”

“We’ll get what we needed and then stay in our quarters for the evening,” Misha said judiciously. Then he looked at Jensen, who still had his gaze down. “Jensen.”

Catching himself, Jensen raised his gaze to Rowan’s—and how glad she was that he did. His cheeks were flushed prettily with a touch of embarrassment, but his eyes were bright and he twinkled them a little at her. 

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, somehow managing to make it sound at once submissive and flirtatious. Rowan smiled at him, inclined her head, and then turned back to Gen and Brianna, the two of them waiting while Misha quickly filled water glasses and took a few things from the fridge, handing some to Jensen. 

 

***

Misha glanced at Jensen out of the corner of his eye on their way back up the stairs. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know,” he said kindly. “It’s really quite normal.”

“I know,” Jensen said. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“You’re not?” Misha said, looking at him full on now. “You looked like you were.”

Jensen smiled mildly. “Rowan wanted me to look embarrassed.”

“She did?”

“Yep. So I did.”

“But how did you know that?” Misha said. 

Jensen inclined his head to one side and then the other, considering what to say. “She likes to see me humiliated, sometimes,” Jensen said. “It’s common, for a woman to want that from her Pleasure Slave.”

“Oh,” Misha said, sounding surprised. Misha had a different sort of relationship with Rowan than he did, and Jensen didn’t want to put a crack in Misha’s confidence in what he had with Rowan, seemingly unshakeable as it was.

“It doesn’t mean—it’s just a Sponsor/Slave thing. It was also good for Rowan to have me like that in front of Gen and Bee.” When Misha looked baffled, he went on. “You know, I don’t think for a second that there’s any kind of competition between those Sponsors. There isn’t. But every Sponsor wants to look as if she’s capable of controlling her Males, keeping us in line, and they're both aware of the trouble we’ve given Rowan lately. It’s good for them all to see me looking fully . . . chastised.”

“You learn all this—all of it—in school?”

Jensen chuckled a little. “We spent a year being placed with a different Sponsor every week or two weeks—or sometimes we’d have as little as two or three days. It was our job to figure out what each Sponsor wanted as quickly as possible, and to serve her as best we could. It sharpens your senses and teaches you to trust your intuition and—well. Rowan’s easy to read.”

“Mmmm,” Misha said non-comitally. Jensen smiled to himself. 

“Anyway. I’ll be in my quarters the rest of the evening, until someone sends for me.”

“Yes,” Misha said. “I think that’s a good idea. Rowan seemed to want to be alone with Gen, for now.”

Jensen nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You know, I think you’re right.”

***

When Misha and Jensen had gone what the women judged a safe distance, the three of them looked at each other and dissolved into giggles. 

“Shit,” Rowan said. “I feel awful.” She didn’t want to humiliate Jensen . . . although the sight of him like that, chastised before Gen and Brianna, had been very pleasing. Especially considering how much trouble her males had been giving her lately.

“Don’t,” Gen shrugged, sipping her wine. “Bound to happen. Nothing is ever simple, with males in the the house. Speaking of which. Look at what I found mine with the other night.”

She turned to her purse and drew out a book, tossing it on the counter for Rowan to see. 

“The Nurturing Male,” Rowan read the title. “Oh my god,” she groaned. “Where did he get that!?”

“Found it in the library. I didn’t even know it was there.”

The tome was infamous. “Strategies for the Submissive Male Raising Children, ” read the subtitle. The book’s cover had a picture of a brawny male sitting on the floor with his shirt off, holding a baby and beaming at a toddler playing with colorful blocks on the floor, while behind them a woman in a business suit smiled fondly at the scene while headed out the door, presumably on her way to work. “Did you give him the impression—?”

“He asked about turning one of the spare rooms into an art space,” Gen said. “He wants to do these,” she waved her hand dismissively “Creative projects all the males are into these days. Collages and things? Anyway, I was distracted and I said that I’d always imagined that specific room would be the nursery. He hasn’t calmed down since.”

“Oh no,” Rowan groaned, commiserating. “Gen!”

“I Know. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now it’s all he can think about.”

"Hey, it's not so bad," Brianna said, sipping her wine. She had had a beautiful baby girl with her Male two years ago, and had never seemed less than thrilled about it.

“I mean, do you want to have a baby?” asked Rowan.

Gen shrugged and sighed. “I always thought maybe someday, you know. But with both of us working so much, it just doesn’t seem like a good time.” Gen had been cast as Sherlock Holmes on a new adaptation and was now on her own set as much as Jared was on his. “I mean, I don’t know who would take care of a baby.”

"Just get a third," Brianna said. "Once the baby comes you're going to want three anyway."

"Once the baby comes??" Gen laughed. "You say that like it's already happening."

Brianna winked, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Jared doesn’t want to stop working, does he?” said Rowan.

“He loves working. But I think the idea has crossed his mind.”

Rowan took a long sip of her wine. “Well shit,” she said. She wouldn’t judge Jared’s choice—she believed Males should have choices in the areas of their lives where it was possible. But if Jared decided to leave Supernatural, it would change a lot for the show. “I mean—I want Jared to do what’s best for him, but, you know—some people do manage to both work and have kids. Maybe you should listen to Bee--”

"--of course she should!" Brianna said.

"--a third would make it easier."

“True,” Gen said. “I wonder what Jay would say to that. What about you?”

“I think you should do whatever you want,” Rowan said, taken aback.

Gen started laughing. “I mean about a baby, you nerd.”

“Oh!” Rowan said, stunned and then laughing. “Oh. Shit. I mean—I’ve told Misha he’ll be the first to know if anything changes for me. But I have no desire to have a baby, at the moment. I don’t think Jensen or Joshua are craving babies either. I hope not. I can barely keep my three males in line. Adding a baby to all that?”

“Yeah. But sometimes . . . I mean, can you imagine a little girl running around with Jared’s eyes? His smile?”

Rowan smiled at Gen. “You’re beaming.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. I predict a Cortese baby before the year is over.”

 

"As do I, and cheers to that," Brianna said, holding out her glass for the other two to clink. "Now Ro. About this mess you're in."

Rowan rolled her eyes. "Must you remind me? Let's dwell on Gen's problems a little more."

"No no. The solution to your problem is much simpler than Gen's. Have you bedded Joshua since the incident?"

"No. Jensen and Misha, but not Joshua."

"Perfect. Ask Jensen to mentor your new union--your reunion," Brianna said, thrusting her hips suggestively, "With him."

"Isn't it too late for that?"

"Of course not. Look, Jensen worships you. He'll do anything to get back on your good side. Plus, asking him to Mentor Joshua in the bedroom--it's an honor. Real Pleasure Slave expert level stuff."

"It will let him feel like he's part of you and Joshua," Gen said. "Not left outside of it. I think that's what freaked him out."

"You can't go on not bedding Joshua," Brianna said. "I mean, you could of course, but I don't think that's what you want."

"I think you're right," Rowan agreed. Then she sighed. "All right. Can we move onto Brianna's problems now?"

 

***

 

“I’d like to resume intimacy with Joshua tonight,” Rowan said.

“All right,” Jensen nodded, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He was absolutely not going to blow this again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

It was mid-morning on a Saturday. They were sitting in the sunroom under a blue winter sky, sipping coffee and reading. Jensen felt so lucky to be here with Rowan, in this position. Weeks ago he’d been certain he was heading back for the pens and now here he was, on a cold bright morning, enjoying a quiet time with Rowan. He’d do anything she asked.

“I was hoping you’d mentor him through it,” Rowan said. “If that won’t be too uncomfortable. It’s a delicate line, you know.”

“It wouldn’t be at all uncomfortable. I would be honored, Ro,” Jensen said sincerely. 

 

“Good. Will you let him know? Tonight around 8, before I get too tired.”

 

“All right,” Jensen said later that night as Joshua stepped out of the shower. “Dry off. Rowan didn’t give me any specifics about what you should wear, so I think we’ll go with this.”

They were in Joshua’s bathroom. It wasn’t as big as Rowan’s or even Jensen’s, but it was still very nice, with a glass shower and a large bathtub, an extended closet. It was very clean, no dirty clothes on the floor, all the clothes neatly on their hangers. Jensen had selected a pair of dress pants and a crisp white shirt for Joshua, a belt in case it was necessary and also because it looked sharp. Joshua pulled on the underwear Rowan favored--tight, not briefs. “No tie?”

“Nah. Wear the first three buttons open,” Jensen said. Joshua nodded. After he had tucked his shirt carefully into his pants, Jensen loosened it to look just a tad disheveled and tousled Joshua’s hair a bit. “There,” he said. “Bedroomy. How are you feeling?” Jensen asked.

“Do I need to hurry?”

“No,” Jensen said firmly. “No rush. You don’t want to bring that kind of energy into the pleasure room.”

Joshua nodded and sighed. “What’s she doing in there?”

Jensen laughed a little. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. Some things are still a mystery to me. But she’s fine. We have plenty of time. Just take some deep breaths. Are you nervous?”

“Not particularly. Should I be?”

Jensen chuckled again. “I guess not. Like I said, I’m going to talk you lightly through this. I’ll try not to be too intrusive. If I go quiet for awhile, that’s a good thing. Just assume things are going well and I don’t want to interrupt.”

When Joshua was ready he opened the door and walked down the hall to Rowan’s bedroom. Her door was cracked open. Misha was somewhere in another part of the house, offering privacy. Joshua glanced at Jensen to see if he should knock. Jensen hesitated a moment, then shook his head. Joshua pushed the door open slightly.

Rowan was sitting on the bed, dressed in her silk lilac lingerie, reading something. She tucked it away in her nightstand when she saw him. “Hey,” she said, smiling warmly.

“Hey,” Joshua said, moving forward into the room. He had only his own instincts to go off here. Jensen moved around to the pleasure slave’s pallet on the side of the bed. The ritual of a Pleasure Slave mentoring a new male through his first night with their Sponsor was something Jensen had trained for in school. It was an honor, and Jensen was grateful to be asked. He knew Rowan was giving him a chance at a fresh start.

Joshua paused briefly, allowing Rowan a good look at him. He was in some of the nicest clothes he owned, but barefoot and a bit disheveled. Rowan bit her lip and smiled--Joshua didn’t need Jensen to tell him this was a good sign. Now his job was to wait, and watch, making sure Joshua conducted himself properly and offering guidance if needed. Joshua approached Rowan, swaggering a bit. Rowan moved toward him. She tugged Joshua's shirt out of his waistband and then ran her hands up his chest. Then she looked at Jensen. She dropped her hands from Joshua's chest and moved toward Jensen. When she reached him she kissed him deeply. Then she pulled back, tugging at his shirt. "This needs to come off immediately."

Jensen smiled and pulled his shirt off. 

"I want you to attend actively," she said, and Jensen nodded. She didn't want him to pretend not to be there. She wanted him to watch.

Jensen watched and Rowan and Joshua approached one another again. Rowan sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his belt out of his pants and tugged his pants down, and his underwear with it. Joshua let her take him in. Then he knelt on the floor and began to kiss her calves, her thighs. He was tender and attentive to Rowan, Jensen was glad to note. 

 

They went on together for some time. Eventually Rowan laid back on the bed, and Jensen saw her tap her inner thigh with two fingers.

 

“Did you see that?” he said softly. “She’s given you the cue that you’re allowed to enter her for your own pleasure.” Joshua breathed heavily into her neck. “Thank you ma’am.”

Rowan smiled and writhed a little. “Jensen still hasn’t received pleasure, have you Jensen?’

Jensen smiled warmly at her while Joshua continued lightly caressing her breasts and her thighs. The thought obviously aroused her. “No ma’am,” he said quietly, submissively. In the five weeks since they’d been reunited, Jensen had pleasured Rowan most nights but still had not been invited to receive pleasure himself. It was Rowan’s prerogative, he would wait as long as she asked of him and come only at her order. 

“It pleases me to make you wait,” she moaned lightly.

“It pleases me to be kept waiting. Because it pleases you.”

“Does it arouse you, Jensen? To be denied this way?”

Jensen swallowed hard and answered truthfully. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

Keeping his eyes locked on hers, showing arousal and interest, Jensen pushed down his underwear and revealed his hardened, erect penis. Joshua sat up a little and stroked Rowan between her legs, watching her. She turned her gaze to him.

“Are you uncomfortable with Jensen like this?” she asked Joshua.

“No,” he answered honestly, a little breathless. “Not at all.”

Rowan moaned. “Jensen,” she said. “Please Joshua.”

Jensen had not been expecting this. But he knew better, was far too well trained, than to show it. He moved forward toward Joshua, willing Joshua to comply. Joshua did. He turned sideways to give Rowan a better view and leaned back on his palms. Jensen leaned down and took Joshua’s stiff cock in his mouth. He began to suck it slowly.

“Does that upset you, Joshua?”

“No,” he said, and he sounded completely sincere. “Oh god,” he moaned. “Not at all.”

“Keep going,” Rowan said to Jensen. “But don’t make him come.”

Jensen did as he was told. He felt Rowan’s hands in his hair before they fluttered over to Joshua’s chest. She sat up and Jensen glanced up, mouth still locked onto Joshua's cock, to see her turn Joshua’s head away from Jensen and toward her. She seized his mouth and kissed him hard, demanding. Jensen tasted a drip of Joshua’s pre-come and slowed down, trying to keep Joshua on the brink without bringing him to orgasm. Joshua wasn’t the first man he had pleasured, though there hadn’t been many. Rowan took Joshua’s hand and guided it between her legs. Jensen moved his tongue up and down along Joshua’s cock. 

 

Finally Rowan said, “Good, Jensen,” and Jensen sat up, his own dick rock-hard, and watched Rowan guide Joshua over her and into her. Joshua locked hands with Rowan, staring into her eyes, and after only a few slow thrusts, he came, shuddering all over and letting out a little moan. Jensen watched Joshua closely. He didn’t want to interrupt if he didn’t have to, but he needed to make sure Joshua didn’t blow it. Fortunately, Joshua didn’t. He took a moment recovering from the shudder of his own orgasm before moving down, slowly, down Rowan’s body, kissing her flesh, caressing her, before finally burying his head between her legs. He was enthusiastic and uninhibited there; Jensen was glad to see it. Rowan moaned in pleasure. Her eyes locked on Jensen’s and then traveled down to his rock hard cock. Calculatedly, he folded his hands behind his back, making a show of leaving his arousal unattended to. Rowan gasped in pleasure. Joshua had his mouth on Rowan’s mound. The sounds were incredibly arousing to Jensen. As she approached climax, Joshua reached out and stroked Jensen’s cock. It stiffened further, jumping at the touch, and Jensen was forced to tilt his head back and swallow hard in an attempt not to come. Joshua was being careful not to stroke him too much, but any touch was a lot right now. 

“Jesus,” Rowan said. “Oh Jesus, you guys,” and then she was coming hard. Joshua dropped his hand away from Jensen as soon as she started to come and cast a quick glance at him. Jensen nodded to show his approval. He was willing to do anything that was pleasurable to Rowan, as this so obviously was--even allowing Joshua to stroke him when he was already painfully aroused and not allowed to orgasm. 

Beneath Joshua Rowan was gasping and panting, recovering from her orgasm. “God,” she said happily. Joshua bent down and kissed her on the lips, smiling. “He did so good,” Rowan said, running her hands through Joshua’s hair. “You did so good, baby. Come here.” Joshua flopped on his side, next to her, and, reading her body language, Jensen climbed in on her other side. “Oh, boys,” she said. “My god.”

She was flushed with pleasure, her body shimmering in sweat. Jensen leaned into the crook of her arm and buried his face close to her breasts, still aroused but no longer painfully so. She ran her hands through his hair. Joshua lay on the other side of her, his hand lovingly on her belly. Jensen knew he would go without orgasm the rest of his life--ok, as long as he possibly could--as long as it made her happy. “You’re not touching yourself, are you?” Rowan asked him quietly. 

“No ma’am,” he said, alarmed. “That would be a betrayal to you. I would never--”

Rowan smiled warmly. “Just checking. You’re doing so good, baby. You’re so good at what you do. And Joshua,” she sighed. “That was so good, honey.”

“Good,” Joshua said, brushing her hair out of her face. 

They stayed there that way, the three of them, through the night.


	25. Chapter 25

“Jensen’s asked me to train him to take publics,” Joshua said, pouring the coffee. He and Rowan were alone in the solarium, enjoying breakfast together with the winter sun coming in through the glass, warming all the many plants and potted flowers. Misha and Jensen had filmed all night and were sleeping in, but Rowan had been off the day and night before, giving her and Joshua the chance to sleep in and then eat a luxurious breakfast together over the paper, as they were doing now.

Rowan frowned. “They’re not in his contract,” she said, before swallowing a bite of a Nutella croissant.

“I know.”

“Did he somehow get the impression from me that I want him to take publics? Because I don’t.”

“It’s not that,” Joshua said. “I guess he was spanked on set the other day, and didn’t handle it very well?”

Rowan sighed, feeling bad for him. Jensen was so eager to do everything so right. He never cut himself even the tiniest break, it could be tiring to keep up with. “It was really nothing. He was trying to keep himself from crying out and I told him not to. You know how hard he is on himself.”

Joshua nodded, passing the mug of coffee to Rowan. “Well it seems like he really took that to heart. He came to me and told me he wanted to start learning how to take punishments in public, so that you wouldn’t have to worry about when you can and can’t discipline him. I think he feels less than fully adequate, as a Male. He hates that you have to make what he sees as exceptions for him that you don’t make for me or for Misha.”

Rowan considered this, pouring cream from a tiny white pitcher into her coffee and stirring. “You didn’t give him the impression that he should take publics, did you? Even accidentally.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never said anything to him about it. He came to me and asked. Formally. On his knees.”

“Hmmm,” Rowan said. She wasn’t crazy about the idea, but something Jensen had been so sincere in desiring deserved consideration. “I don’t give Jensen publics because he experiences a disproportionate humiliation from them. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Joshua agreed. “But he seems now to be suffering from not taking them as well. Maybe he’s ready to overcome that extreme humiliation.”

Rowan sighed. “How would you even train him for that? Can that be done?”

“It can be done,” Joshua said. “Sometimes. I’d start by having him take every single discipline he needs in front of our household. I know he thinks he’s used to that, but it can become much more difficult, once it’s ritualized. He might be surprised by how hard he finds even that. If he was handling it okay, after awhile, I’d start disciplining him in front of people he trusts—Jared, Gen, eventually Brianna. Then I’d spank him sometimes in public places. Set would be the last place to work up to. It’s more difficult being punished in front of colleagues than strangers, usually. And I think especially for Jensen.”

“I don’t know,” said Rowan. “My main concern would be that you attempt to train him, and he just isn’t able to adapt to them properly. Ever. They’re still too much. Then we all learn he can never take publics, and that’s just something for him to feel bad about himself for.”

“A very good point,” Joshua nodded. He didn’t feel strongly one way or the other about the matter; he’d just do as Rowan wanted. 

“And I have zero dissatisfaction with Jensen’s current arrangement or contract,” she added. Joshua inclined his head. “Tell him he may not train to take publics, as that isn’t what I want for him. But here’s what we’ll do--I want you to start giving him all his punishments in front of the household, and I will too. That way we can maybe get an idea of how he’d start to adjust to publics, without him knowing that’s what’s going on. Don’t tell him what you’re doing, and if he asks, just tell him you and I choose his disciplines, he doesn’t, and give him a few extra swats. You think that will work?”

“Yep,” Joshua said. 

“All right. There’s one more thing I want you to know I’m planning on.”

“Okay,” Joshua said, sipping his own coffee. 

“You’re aware of what happened between Misha and Jensen before you were here.”

“Yes,” Joshua said. Rowan had told him, and so had Misha, and so had Jensen—Rowan to keep him informed about her Males, and the Males to keep their Handler informed about their wrongdoings. Misha and Jensen were so good, they almost didn’t need any Handling at all. 

“Well. It’s been awhile, and they haven’t done anything close ever since. And now that I have three males, I’d like Jensen to be able to preform as a full pleasure slave. To both of you.”

“Oh,” Joshua said, understanding. It caught him off guard, and he had let that show for just a moment. The right corner of Rowan’s mouth lifted slightly, in a small, wry smile.  
“I’m going to have him start with Misha. Jensen won’t be allowed to come, yet, but I think he’ll enjoy it anyway. I hope so. I just wanted to let you know that this is going to happen. Under my orders only, for now. Maybe forever. Just so you can keep an eye on things. I don’t think there will be any issues, or I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Okay,” Joshua nodded. Satisfied, Rowan smiled at him, and then opened the newspaper.

***

The next day, after they had eaten breakfast, Rowan opened the book she was reading and then casually said, “I’d like you to pleasure Misha tonight, Jensen.”

Jensen worked quickly not to show his reaction. “I’d be happy to,” he said smoothly, hoping his voice didn’t betray the bewilderment he was feeling. It wasn’t an unusual thing for a Sponsor to request of her Pleasure Male—three Males could be a lot for one Sponsor and a Pleasure Male could go a long way toward helping with that--but Jensen was very surprised to hear Rowan requesting it of him and Misha, considering their past. Rowan glanced up at him from under her eye brows, with the faintest hint of a smile. So maybe she did understand how strange her request was after all. Jensen regarded her back, keeping his expression warm, with maybe just a hint of wondering in his eyes. “Give pleasure, but don’t receive it. And don’t feel guilty if you enjoy yourself. I hope you will, actually.”

“I am--” what? he was what? The smooth and capable veneer he had been maintaining slipped just a little. “I’m happy to serve you in whatever way I can.”  
Rowan only nodded, and went back to her book. 

That night Jensen didn’t follow Rowan up to bed, but went instead into his own bathroom to ready himself while Misha and Joshua were downstairs, doing the dishes and finishing up the rest of the household chores. He didn’t know if Rowan had told Misha what to expect; Jensen hadn’t said anything. He waited until he heard Misha get into his own shower, and then he went down the hall and slipped through Misha’s door. 

The low lights were on, and the door to Misha’s bathroom was cracked, steam issuing out of it. Jensen hesitated, then decided that he’d been sent here on pleasure slave’s duties, he would follow pleasure slave protocol. He went to the foot of Misha’s bed and knelt on the floor there, with his hands on his knees and his head slightly lowered, his knees splayed a bit wider than usual. It was a suggestive position, not one meant for submitting to discipline. He took a deep breath, and waited.

Misha lingered a bit in the shower. Jensen thought he should have warned him, alerted Misha to his presence, but now it was too late. In a moment Misha came through the door.

“Oh,” he said. “Jensen--you startled me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jensen said, turning it on. He raised his head and looked into Misha’s eyes with a blazing look that made his intentions clear. Misha was completely naked. “Rowan sent me.”

“I--I know,” Misha said. “Jensen, I didn’t ask her to. I want you to know that.”

Jensen swallowed. It was terrible, the way he knew how to seduce Misha. He made his eyes large and vulnerable. “Are you not pleased?”

“No,” Misha said. “I mean yes, of course I am. If you are. I just wanted you to know that--this was her idea. Of course I’m honored, Jensen.”

“My orders are to pleasure you sir,” Jensen said, his face making it clear that he wanted this, orders or not. “May I follow them?”

“Oh god,” Misha said. Then--”Yes.” His voice was thick. Already Misha’s cock was coming to life.

Jensen gracefully rose to his feet. Misha was naked, Jensen knew it made people uncomfortable to be in a greater state of undress than somebody else. Intently he held Misha’s gaze as he reached down and peeled off his tank top. Misha licked his lips. Still holding his gaze, Jensen slid out of his underwear. He moved toward Misha and slowly, asking permission with his eyes, wrapped his arms around him, pressing their cocks together. Jensen, of course, was already, instantly, hard. He hadn’t orgasmed in close to three months, immediate arousal at this point was unavoidable. He put his hand on Misha’s nape and kissed Misha’s neck. Misha moaned. “Oh god, Jenny,” he said. “Am I allowed to--touch you? Is this all right, for us to . . . ?”

Jensen knew what he meant. “I’m not allowed to orgasm, but Rowan said she wanted us to enjoy it.” Talking about how he wasn’t allowed to orgasm made him harder, dammit. Misha noticed and pulled back slightly. 

“Is it all right to kiss you, or is that--too much?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Jensen said. This was, after all, for Misha’s benefit and Jensen intended to serve him well. By doing so, he would serve Rowan. Going off instinct, he dropped to his knees and took Misha’s fullness in his mouth. Jensen circled Misha’s balls with his hand and massaged while moving his lips along Misha’s cock, slowly at first. Misha grew rigid and full almost instantly--it had been awhile for him too, Jensen knew, though Misha at least was allowed to tend to himself. He felt Misha’s hands in his hair. A memory sprang into his mind, of the last time the two of them had been intimate. The awfulness of it all--Misha's roughness with him, Rowan's disappointment. This time it was with her blessing--at her orders, even--and the healing power of that suddenly overwhelmed Jensen. It was like erasing one story and writing one over it, one that was beautiful and good. Tears sprang to Jensen’s eyes at the emotions of it all, at the mercy of Rowan, at the sheer tenderness of Misha’s fingers. He quickly blinked them back. Crying while pleasuring someone was definitely not acceptable. He sucked Misha until he began to taste precum, and then he pulled away.

Misha groaned in weak protest and opened his eyes, dizzily looking down at Jensen. “Is something wrong?” Misha said.

“No, baby,” Jensen answered. "It's so good. You're so good. Such a good Male." He stood and went to the bed where he bent and posed on all fours, raising his ass, which he knew was red and striped from his daily spankings, and presented his bottom for Misha’s enjoyment. “Oh my god, Jensen,” Misha said. “Shit.”

For an answer Jensen only thrust his ass back, asking.

Misha approached him and Jensen felt Misha’s hands on his back, roaming down across his hips, his bottom. Briefly Misha touched Jensen’s rock-hard cock and Jensen squeezed his eyes shut--he wouldn’t stop Misha until it was dire--before Misha gasped, remember, and drew his hand away. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jensen said. “You’re free to stroke me if you like. If it brings you pleasure. I’ll withhold as long as I can.” It brought Rowan great pleasure to tease Jensen, and he would do it for Misha, of course, if Misha wanted him to.

“No,”Misha said weakly, and then he put his hands on Jensen’s buttocks. “Baby--are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jensen said breathlessly. “I want this.” And he did. 

Misha oiled and began to enter him, pressing his cock gently at the opening of Jensen’s hole. It had been so long, Jensen was tight. He didn’t apologize—never apologize for your body, unless that was your partner’s specific kink—but he breathed in and out audibly and said, “You’re so full, Mish. And so gentle. You’re so good to me.”

“Jensen,” Misha groaned helplessly. “Is this all right?”

“Yes. Go a little further,” Jensen said. With another aroused sigh, Misha did. Jensen let out his own groan of pleasure. Slowly, Misha pushed until he was all the way inside of Jensen, until Jensen had taken him all. Misha made him incredibly full. Jensen thrust his hips back into Misha’s groin, and then did it again, and again. It was vaguely painful, but in a sweet way. “Fuck me, Mish,” he said. “Please.”

“Oh god, Jensen,” Misha said, and then he did. Slowly at first, but with increasing force, he fucked in and out of Jensen. As he got close to orgasm, he leaned forward onto Jensen’s back, gripping Jensen’s shoulder, Jensen bracing hard to support half of Misha’s weight. “Fuck me harder, sir. Please. I love it when you fuck me. Love feeling you in my ass.”

“Jensen,” Misha panted helplessly, and then he came. Jensen didn't orgasm, but he shivered all over with the goodness of it.

When Misha was done, the two of them collapsed onto the bed together, both turning onto their sides. Jensen stroked his hair a bit, and kissed him, and then went to Joshua and asked him to watch him in the shower. He wouldn’t dream of returning to Rowan with Misha still in him, on him, and he needed the extra help to keep him from touching himself. After pleasing Misha, the temptation was too strong. Joshua was good-natured about it, as he was about seemingly everything. He sat and watched Jensen in the shower, removing any chance of Jensen disobeying Rowan, and stayed until Jensen was back into clothes.

“Thanks,” Jensen said. Joshua smiled. 

“No problem, man. You’re doing really well, Jensen.I hope you know that.”

The compliment rang in his ears as he went back down the hall to Rowan’s room. He knocked on the door and went in after Rowan’s answer. She was in bed watching a TV show she seemed to know he didn’t like, even though he’d never said anything about it. It was about a bunch of rich British people back in the times before the Change. The men in it behaved reprehensibly, and the women were powerless in a way that made Jensen nervous and offended. Rowan looked up up at him as he entered.

“Was Misha well pleased?”

“I hope so,” Jensen said. 

Rowan smiled. “I’m sure he was. How are you? Do you need a break?”

Jensen wasn’t sure what she meant. “I don’t think so. Do I seem tired? If so, I apologize.” Jensen silently scolded himself. Appearing to be tired around his Sponsor would be totally unacceptable. He loved serving Rowan and was shocked to realize he might be coming off this way.

But Rowan said,“No honey. You don’t seem tired. I’m just making sure, I guess. I know your lines and limits for most things, I think, but this new position for you--being so very attentive, and submissive, all the time--I just want to make sure I catch any signs that you’re, you know, burning out, before you actually do.”

Jensen approached the bed slowly and waited for permission to sit. Rowan nodded.

“I don’t know if I will ever burn out on this position, Rowan,” he said. “I love it. I love being this close to you, being the one at your side. When we walk into a room and everyone can see that I’m the one who gets to attend to you, I feel so strong and purposeful and like the luckiest guy in the room. And I love the submission. It’s a clean sort of feeling, you know? I guess maybe you don’t,” he smiled. “It feels safe and. . . everything becomes so clear.”

“Will you submit to me now?” Rowan said. 

“Of course,” Jensen said adamantly, looking in to her eyes. “Please tell me how.”

Rowan opened the drawer in her nightstand and pulled out a silver tray of anal plugs ranging in size from small to very, very large. Jensen swallowed. A shiver of fear ran up his spine, along with a shiver of the pleasure that submission to this would bring him.

“Which one will challenge you?” Rowan said. “Not harm you, but stretch you in a way you’ll have to work to tolerate?”

Jensen nodded. “I should have to breathe through it?”

Rowan’s voice was warm and approving. “Yes honey.”

He pointed to the one that was a bit larger than an erect Misha. 

“Over my lap, then,” she said, and Jensen smoothly lowered himself so that his bottom fell squarely across her lap, the rest of his body stretched across the bed. “Take your underwear down,sweetheart. “ Her voice was so warm and soothing. Jensen reached back and shifted his g-string down before cradling his head in his arms again. Rowan rubbed his reddened bottom comfortingly. There was a pause, and Jensen knew Rowan was lubricating the plug. It was large. Jensen truly had been sure to pick a challenge.

“All right. Take a deep breath. Let your muscles go loose.”

Jensen did. “Here it is,” Rowan said, and Jensen felt the cool rubber pressing between his cheeks, and then in. Rowan went slowly, talking him through it.

“Breathe, baby. Good. A little further now. Deep breath. You’re doing so good, honey, so good. This is a challenge for you,isn’t it? A little more now. Breathe. That’s it. We’re almost there. I’ll wait a moment. This is going to be very full, now honey. Ready? Here we go. That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. It’s in, Jenny,” and he felt her hand rubbing his bottom approvingly. He was shuddering a little, the plug was intense, not terribly painful but enough so that Jensen had to take deep breaths and swim up into and then out of his head a little bit, dizzy with submission. If he hadn’t just been stretched by Misha, it would have been far too large. Rowan rubbed him a little longer, and then wiggled the plug a bit. Jensen bit his arm, caught between pain and arousal.

“I’m so proud of you, Jensen. Let’s stay like this a little bit, all right?”

“All right,” Jensen said, because he was not on discipline. 

“You can turn your head toward the tv and relax. As much as possible. I’ll put on something else.”

Jensen turned his head and said nothing for a bit. He was confident Rowan knew his tendency toward quiet when he was being submissive. Rowan put on a comedy set in current times, about a Sponsor living in New York with her two well-meaning but often poorly behaved males. It suited Jensen much better.

“I do know what it’s like, you know,” she said after a while, idly wiggling the plug in his ass. 

“What?” his breath caught just a bit. 

“Submission. I know what you’re talking about. How everything goes quiet and it all seems so clear.”

Jensen hesitated a moment before asking, carefully, “How?”

“Sponsor training,” she said, a touch of amusement in her voice. “I guess I’ve never talked to you guys about Sponsor training. I know some women don’t like their males to know. But I think it might be good for you to know. Anything I assign to you, I’ve been through it too. So I know exactly what I’m asking of you.”

Jensen took a moment to let his mind wrap around this. “Even the rice?” he said, stunned.

Rowan chuckled. “I spent ten hours on the rice. One time only. I don’t ever plan to take any of you longer than that. Good lord. The rice is awful, isn’t it?”

“The worst,” Jensen said, and then “Oh my god--I’m sorry--ma’am, I’m so--”

Luckily Rowan was laughing. “It’s ok, Jenny. I know you hate rice the most. God, I don’t blame you.”


	26. Chapter 26

Two weeks later, Rowan had still not allowed Jensen to orgasm. It was becoming increasingly difficult to avoid touching himself, but Jensen employed the techniques he had learned in his training. He started spending more time in the gym, taking two hours when he had only taken one. And finally, when the urge was approaching a level he feared would be overwhelming, he asked Joshua to help him. 

“Would you please paddle me this morning, sir?” Jensen asked after breakfast, in the hour he had set aside to deal with any household matters, such as this. It was still a little strange asking Joshua, Jensen had always gone to Misha with these matters, in the time he had come to think of as “the before time”. 

“Of course,” Joshua said, turning from the pan he was drying and looking at him with kind concern. “What’s happened, Jenny?”

Jensen was careful to keep his tone neutral. “It pleases Rowan to delay my pleasure.” God, he was aroused just saying it. He swallowed. “I’m happy to serve her this way--I really am--but it’s growing more difficult.”

“Of course,” Joshua said again, nodding in understanding. “Let’s go to my office.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, and followed Joshua into the Handler’s Office. 

“How are you doing emotionally,” Joshua said. “With the situation?”

“Fine,” Jensen said. He didn’t resent this inquiry, Joshua was a good Handler to ask. “I mean, more than fine. I really am. I’m so happy to please Rowan in any way right now,” he shook his head. “I’m sure you understand. I’d go to much greater lengths than this, to keep her happy.”

“So your frustration--” Joshua winced at his own choice of words. “Sorry. Your issue really is just physical?”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said. “If I was feeling even slightly annoyed with Rowan, I would ask for punishment.”

“All right,” Joshua said. “I’m going to take care of you, Jenny. I'm gonna give you the paddle. Please go get Rowan and Misha and ask them to come watch."

"--yes, sir," Jensen said after a pause. He just stopped himself from saying something else, asking a question. But then, as he started to leave the room, his tongue got the better of him. "I'm sorry," he said, turning back to Joshua from the doorway. "I don't--why? Is there something--? I'm sorry for my disrespect. I'll go."

"Wait," Joshua said, stopping him. "Who chooses your punishments, Jensen?"

"You and Rowan do. I'm sorry, sir. I'll accept extra punishment."

"That won't be necessary this time," Joshua said. "Now, do as you're told."

"Yes sir," Jensen said. He went out to the kitchen first, looking for Rowan and Misha. Misha was there, watching the news on tv. "Misha?" he said. Misha looked up at him, his face warm and friendly. "Um. Please come and watch me take a paddling in Joshua's office."

"Of course," Misha said, all business as usual, using the remote to click off the TV. 

"Thank you," Jensen said. His belly was doing a nervous sort of flinch. Misha has watched you take hundreds of punishments, he told himself. This isn't different. 

But it felt different somehow. Jensen tried to push those feelings aside as he went up the stairs. Rowan's door was closed. He knocked gently. 

"Come in."

He pushed open the door. His Sponsor was laying in bed, still in her silk morning robe, laughing at something on her datapad. She lowered it and turned her eyes to him. 

"Ma'am," he said. How to phrase this? Suddenly he couldn't remember the customary words. "Uh," he said, rather ineloquently. "Joshua--my Handler--I need a paddling and Joshua has, uh, required that I come ask you to watch."

"Of course I"ll observe your discipline, honey," she said, giving him the phrase he was supposed to have used. Will you please come observe my discipline. Why was this getting to him so much? Jensen was aware that he had expected this sort of a discipline to remain private between he and Joshua--but that was his expectation, not anything required of Joshua. If he wanted to make in known to the household that Jensen required a paddling because his urge to self-pleasure were growing so strong, that was his decision.

"Thank you, ma'am," Jensen said. He waited for her to leave the room and then followed her back down the stairs, into Joshua's office. Joshua was perched on the front side of the desk, his arms bracing him on either side. Misha was standing along the back wall, arms folded in front of him. Rowan entered and moved to the side, taking one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

"Thank you Jensen," Joshua said. "Bring me the medium paddle, please.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, and did as he was told, grateful to be taken in hand. He took the paddle from the cabinet and gave it to Joshua, not looking at Misha or Rowan. 

"Jensen requires a paddling to help him serve his Sponsor's requests," Joshua said matter-of-factly. “Jensen. Underwear down. Bend over the desk,” Joshua said. Jensen was glad Joshua seemed to know he couldn’t go over a knee or a bed right now--the friction combined with Jensen’s usual arousal to discipline would be too much.

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, and obeyed. There were no pants to pull down, Jensen wasn’t wearing pants these days. Just underwear. He was intensely aware of Misha and Rowan behind him, each with a prime view of his bare ass. Joshua walked around behind him. “I understand that you often become aroused during a punishment,” Joshua said. 

“Yes sir,” said Jensen. He took a deep breath. He knew he could trust Joshua. Anyway, he had to. “It seems that for this to truly help you, I need to paddle you past the point where it’s pleasurable for you and truly cross you over from pleasure to punishment, to give you some release. Does that sound right?”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, knowing now that this would be a hard paddling. “Thank you.” Rowan and Misha said nothing.

“All right,” Joshua said, and then he touched Jensen’s back briefly. It was a small gesture, but it somehow meant a lot to Jensen. Then he began to paddle him.

The paddle smacked into Jensen’s buttocks with a medium amount of force. Jensen rocked back into position, hoping to make a good impression on his household. Joshua paddled him again, and again, and Jensen did his best to return to perfect position, relaxing his muscles so he wouldn’t clench. He remembered how hard Rowan had worked to teach him not to clench when he’d first come here. Then he realized his mind was wandering in a way it shouldn’t during a discipline session and returned his focus. Smack, return, breath. Joshua paddled him about twenty times before Jensen grunted and Joshua said, “You’re doing so good baby. Harder now.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, and then Joshua made good on his words--he began to paddle Jensen with a good deal more force than he had before. Luckily, he also started to talk Jensen through it.

“You’re doing beautifully, Jensen.” smack. “You were right to come to me,” smack. “Don’t think I’ll forget that,” Smack. “That you’ve done the right thing.” SMACK. “This hurts, but it’s going to help you.” SMACK. “Isn’t it baby? It’s going to help.” Joshua had paddled him about forty times now.

“Yes sir,” Jensen managed to get out before the pain became intense, and his nerves got to him. Without thinking, he transitioned into fast breathing.

“Don’t do that,” Joshua said. SMACK.

"I'm sorry, sir," Jensen said, suddenly remembering. How had he forgotten? Joshua didn't want him to pant during his punishments. Disciplines, Whatever.

“I want you to unlearn that, remember, Jenny? You’re doing it to avoid crying. I want you to cry.” SMACK. Smack. Smack.

“Sir,” said Jensen. “Sir,” and then he started to cry. 

“There you go, honey. There You go,” Joshua said, continuing to paddle Jensen. Jensen went limp and cried, rocking and shaking. The paddling was hard. It was a very hard one.IT went on for awhile longer, finally doing what it was supposed to do--take some of the restless, roving sexual energy out of Jensen's body, converting it into sweat and tears, releasing it with the pain of the paddle on his ass. Once Jensen was an utter mess--crying, tears down his cheeks, his knees quivering, his ass writing, Joshua finally stopped. He put his hand in Jensen's hair and then rubbed his back for a minute, allowing Jensen's breath to begin to slow. "Thank you, sir," Jensen muttered warmly, after a moment. He was struck with the sudden desire to take Joshua's cock in his mouth and please him, the way a discipline always made him pliant, submissive, eager to serve. He opened his mouth, wanting Joshua's finger in it, something. But Joshua just rubbed his neck and upper back. After a moment, Rowan came to his side. The scent of her nearly made him dizzy.

"Sweetheart," she said. "I'd be happy to let you spend that on me, but I'm afraid it would be too much for you. You're so perfect, Jensen. Come back to earth now, darling."

"Yes Rowan," Jensen said, wishing she would just part her legs and let him take care of her. 

"Thank Rowan and Misha for watching your paddling, Jenny," Joshua reminded him.

"Thank you for observing my discipline, Rowan. Thank you, Misha," Jensen said. 

"You're welcome, Jensen," they each said, and Jensen heard them leave. 

Joshua gave him another long moment before saying, "All right, man. Time to stand up." Jensen stood, and Joshua held him with a hand on each of Jensen's arms and looked searchingly into his eyes. "That one really dropped you into sub space, huh?"

"Yes sir," Jensen said, gazing at Joshua, his eyes like honey. Joshua smiled softly. 

"And you're still there. Okay. Come here, honey." Joshua bent and drew Jensen's briefs up from his ankle, pulling them to place over his ass. "Unfortunately Rowan has a lot to do today, so you're stuck here with me. I want you to kneel for me, Jensen. Okay? I've got to do some work here, so just kneel here next to me for awhile. Until you start to . . .come down."

"Yes sir," Jensen said. "Let me--let me--"

"Just kneel," Joshua said gently. "You're such a good sub, Jensen. Please kneel for me."

Jensen nodded. He went around the desk to Joshua's chair and fluidly went down on his knees next to it. Joshua put the paddle back in the cabinet and took his seat, running his hand through Jensen's hair. Joshua went about his work, touching Jensen occasionally, not allowing Jensen to rest his head on Joshua's lap as he so clearly wanted to--it might embarrass him to find himself that way once he started to come around, and Joshua didn't want that. After awhile, something shifted in the air. Joshua gave it a few more minutes before turning to Jensen. 

"Jen."

Jensen looked up at him. The honeyed glaze had gone off his eyes, though he still looked respectful and obedient. 

"Hey. You did great today. Why don't you go do your workout."

"Yes sir," Jensen said, rocking easily back onto his heels and pushing to a stand. "Thank you, Joshua. For--seeing to me."

He was talking about the subspace. "It's an honor," Joshua said. Jensen smiled a little, and then left.

 

After the third day of asking Joshua to paddle him in the mornings, and asking Rowan and Misha to watch, Jensen walked out of Joshua’s office after a recovery period, sore and burning, his face slightly damp from the cold water he’d splashed on his face after the tears--Joshua had rubbed his back until he stopped crying, telling him what a good job he was doing, and saying he was so proud of him, knowing how hard this was growing for Jensen, and acknowledging Jensen’s effort. He hadn’t mentioned intervening with Rowan yet,and Jensen was relieved. He was determined to wait this out as long as she asked him to, would do anything. After he stepped out of the office and into the kitchen, wearing his usual uniform of underwear and a tight tank top, and found Rowan was there. He smiled at her as she turned to him, and she immediately drew close and thrust her hands into his black underwear, grabbing his bottom in her hands, clearly enjoying the feeling of his hot, red flesh. Jensen groaned a little, and so did she, nuzzling her lips into his neck.

“You’re doing this for me?” she said.

“Yes, Ro,” he said fondly, placing his hands on her back and rubbing lightly, accepting the pain from her hands on his bottom. She pressed their bodies more tightly together. Immediately Jensen was aroused. 

“You’re so obedient, aren’t you Jensen?”

“Yes, Ro,” he said into her ear. She was clearly aroused. 

“So submissive to me.”

“Yes honey. I love to submit to you.”

“Will you take another paddling tonight, for my pleasure, Jensen?”

“Of course, Ro. I would be happy to.” He was so eager to please her that he only braced a little at the thought of another paddling over his already aching flesh. 

Rowan squeezed his hot flesh again and, going off instinct, he let out a little noise of pain and put his hand in her hair. “Oh my god,” she said, and forced herself to draw away. “Tonight, Jensen.”

He twinkled his eyes at her. “Yes, Ro.”

Later that night, after dinner, Jensen caught Misha alone in the kitchen and said, “Rowan asked me to take a paddling for her pleasure tonight. Normally I’d ask you to do it, but I’m not sure if I should ask Joshua instead.”

Misha smiled fondly at Jensen. “You could ask either one of us. As for tonight though, Rowan has already asked Joshua and I both to attend."

“Oh,” Jensen said, slightly thrown off but trying not to show it. “All right. Thanks. Listen, uh. You’re gonna have to make it really hard. Anything light will turn me on and at this point,” Jensen shook his head. “I really can’t handle much arousal. Of course I’ll do everything I can, but you know how I react to spankings.”

Misha nodded. “Joshua and I have already considered this and we’ve decided to use the strap. It will be more painful for you but I think will arouse you less because of that, precisely. Can you handle the strap for us, honey?”

“Yes,” Jensen said. “If Rowan’s pleased, I’ll be pleased.” Misha smiled at him approvingly and Jensen went upstairs to begin getting ready. 

When he emerged from his bathroom, Jensen paused and drew his breath in. The room was lit in candles, they were everywhere, casting a gorgeous flickering light. But what stopped his breath was the sight before him. First Rowan--stretched out on the bed in a lace bra and underwear, the candle catching the glisten of her skin, she was miles of warm, glowing, inviting flesh. The ripest peach. But it didn’t stop there. On either side of her were Joshua and Misha, both in their boxer-briefs, both similarly oiled and glowing. Joshua was holding a strap. Jensen was immediately rigid, hard as a rock, something he could hide from none of them, and so he didn’t try. 

“Take a deep breath, Jensen,” Rowan said, her voice warm but infused with firmness. “Don’t lose everything now.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said breathlessly, and shut his eyes. He took a few deep breaths and then opened them again, resolved. He wouldn’t come. He would not.

“Take off your underwear,” Rowan said. Not her commanding discipline voice, but her bedroom voice. Jensen slid off the underwear, his cock practically springing from its covering. 

“Turn around for us.”

Jensen turned his backside to the three of them. His lady, his Handler, his fellow male. He could feel their eyes on his backside, punished and striped from a week of keeping himself, at all costs, from orgasm. He waited.

“Jensen.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jensen said, turning back, his eyebrows raised attentively.

“You’ve been asking Joshua to paddle you in the mornings.”

“Yes, Rowan.”

“Why?”

“So that I might obey you fully. In thought and deed.” In thought and deed. From the Pleasure Slave’s manifesto, a creed he’d had drilled into him, but one he had taken on, for Rowan, as his own. “To enhance my obedience.”

“More specifically?” Rowan raised an eyebrow, playful.

Jensen smiled softly. “Joshua has been paddling me to keep me from touching myself.”

“How long has it been?”

“It’s been eight weeks I’ve been forbidden from orgasm, Ro.” Rowan liked hearing the words. He gave them to her. He took stock of the situation and figured he was about to be strapped while Misha pleasured Rowan. And that was fine, it was more than fine. Anything he could do right now to make Rowan happy, he would. Absolutely anything. 

“Has it been a challenge?” Rowan asked.

“It has,” Jensen said honestly. “And a pleasure.”

“I have another challenge for you, Jensen,” Rowan practically purred. “Do you accept?”

Did he have a choice? “I do, my lady,” he answered her. 

“Just so we’re clear, you are not to orgasm until you have my permission. Repeat that back to me.”

“I am not to orgasm until I have your permission, Rowan,” Jensen said.

“That’s right,” Rowan said, seductive and commanding. “what will happen if you do?”

“I’ll be punished,” Jensen said. 

“Soundly,” said Rowan.

“I’ll be soundly punished,” Jensen said. Rowan smiled. “Very good. Bend forward, sweetheart. Hands on the bed.”

“Yes my lady,” Jensen said, unsure if he should use ma’am.

“Misha?”

Jensen waited silently, trying to breathe evenly, for Misha to approach Rowan. But he didn’t. He took a bottle of oil from the bedside table, squirted some on to his hands, rubbed them together--and approached Jensen. “Sweetheart, I’m going to touch you now,” he whispered in Jensen’s ear, before taking Jensen’s cock in his hand and beginning to stroke. Jensen let out a long slow breath. It felt so fucking good, the warm oil and Misha’s capable hand. Then Misha pinched the tip of Jensen’s cock, not too hard but just enough to keep Jensen from becoming painfully aroused. It was a harsh mercy.

“Joshua,” Rowan said. Jensen knew what was coming. He went loose, Misha was stroking him, it felt so wonderful, and then there was the harsh bite of the belt across his ass, and Jensen swam up between pleasure and pain. Joshua strapped him again, and again, as Misha stroked him. After just a few moments, it was too much.

“Ma’am--”

“Misha,” Rowan said, and Misha stopped stroking him at once. Joshua continued to strap Jensen. Slave-trained, Jensen raised his eyes just slightly, not to Rowan’s face, but enough so that he could see her body and watch for cues. Sure enough, Rowan tapped two fingers to her pubis bone. Moving slowly, Jensen lowered himself to his stomach and pushed forward so that his head was between Rowan’s legs. Joshua slowed the strapping down a bit as Jensen used his teeth to move Rowan’s panties aside. Gently, he began to caress Rowan with his tongue, regulating his breath and his reactions, making his body non-responsive to the pain of the strapping Joshua was giving him, so that he could focus on pleasing Rowan, careful not to butt into her with the force of the belt on his skin, not to let out any groans. It was turning him on, and Rowan was turning him on. Christ, how was he supposed to keep this up? He pushed that thought from his head. Rowan required it of him, so he would. Rowan put her hands in his hair and rubbed his head gently, encouragingly. For a moment, anyway. Then she was too distracted by pleasure. “Mmmmm,” she groaned, and then, “Take a breath, let me hear you.”

Jensen dragged his tongue up her as he raised his head. He knew what she wanted. Joshua strapped him a few times in quicker succession than he had been and Jensen let out a grunt of pain, followed by a moan. He wasn’t faking either. The strapping was hard and painful, and he was painfully aroused. Joshua strapped him again, and again, and Jensen hissed in pain. “Sir,” he said weakly. “Oh, sir. My strapping hurts. You’re strapping me so hard.”

“It’s supposed to hurt, isn’t it Jensen?” said Joshua, and Jensen agreed. “Yes sir. He’s strapping me so hard, Ro. I’m getting a hard strapping on my butt. Joshua is strapping my butt so hard.”

“Oh god Jensen,” Rowan groaned in pleasure and pushed his head back down, gently. Jensen went back to work, and had brought her to the brink of orgasm, when she said, “Jensen, enter me.”

Jensen obeyed immediately. He was hard as a rock and Rowan was wet, more than ready for him. It was easy to enter her and begin to move, slowly, gazing down at her while Joshua strapped him. He thrust and thrust, again and again, Rowan moving her hands down his arms, over his buttocks to feel the warm skin--a moment of relief from the bite of the belt, Joshua ever-watchful--and then back to his arms, the strapping resuming. It felt so good, and that combined with the strapping began to overwhelm him. He tried to stay calm, to hold it in, but attending to Rowan meant he couldn’t let his brain wander, couldn’t do anything to diminish his own arousal. He thrust slowly in an out of her for two minutes, three, as long as he could, and then finally it began to show on his face. He grit his teeth together. “Harder, please, Joshua. I’m too close.” Joshua strapped him harder, faster, but it didn’t seem to diminish his erection at all. He felt hopeless. He began to cry. It was too much, he wasn’t going to make it.

“Rowan,” he groaned, hating himself for failing her in this way. “My lady--Joshua, please--I’m so sorry--”

“Are you at your brink?”

“Yes, Ro.”

“Come,” Rowan commanded. “Jensen. Orgasm.”

Jensen didn’t stop thrusting, his eyes searching Rowan’s out, his gaze wild, bewildered. “Ma’am?” he said, confused, nearly ruined.

“Finish in me, baby. You’ve done so well, Jensen. It’s over now honey. Come.”

“Oh Rowan,” Jensen cried out, throwing his head back. Joshua stopped strapping him and Jensen thrust, and thrust, and thrust again, the last one sending shudders through his entire body as he came, and came, and came. It was exquisite. It was the most intense orgasm Jensen had ever experienced, and maybe ever would. It rippled over him again and again, Rowan muttering encouragements softly in his ear. “Oh, Rowan,” he cried out again, finishing, collapsing helplessly into her arms. “Oh my god,” he said. Panting. Rowan stroking his hair. He raised his head and she kissed his cheeks, his forehead, Jensen still inside her. “You did so well, baby,” she said. “You were so good, Jensen. I'm so proud of you.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some fluff, basically? A little porn, not much plot. I hope this can hold you all over until I can get more out. xo.

The morning after finally being allowed to orgasm, Jensen woke up feeling pretty incredible. It was after dawn when he woke, and he felt a ease and a softness in his entire body, like every muscle had finally relaxed. He felt something close to subspace, he realized, being this relaxed and feeling the urge to climb down between Rowan’s legs and pleasure her wash over him. On top of this, his submissive side was feeling heightened. He snuggled down further into the comforters, wanting to place himself below Rowan, show submission somehow, craving it—and felt his back end hit another body. Turning, he saw that Misha was sleeping beside him, his hair a mess, one arm thrown up over his head, his belly and the dark hair there exposed. Jensen smiled and nearly groaned, shivering with pleasure. Raising his head, he saw that Joshua was on the other side of Misha, curled on his side, facing away from them, Misha’s side pressing lightly against Joshua’s back. Jensen was instantly hard between his legs and soft everywhere else, his body warm and liquid, practically, with pleasure. He remembered, in a distant way, how Joanna would have hated this and called him “oversexed” again. But he knew this side of him was welcome here, with Rowan.

Unable to stop himself, he put his arm around Rowan’s waist and pressed his face into the skin of her back, burrowing deeper into the covers, placing her above him—his lady, as she should be.

Rowan shifted a little in her sleep and placed her arm over his, holding him there. Jensen shut his eyes and drifted in and out of sleep a little bit, but before too long he heard himself moaning a bit, rather helplessly, and pulling Rowan closer. His brain wasn’t as sharp as it normally was, under the circumstances. As he began to wonder what the hell he thought he was doing, Rowan stirred, sighing, and rolled towards him—chuckling, to Jensen’s great relief.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Feeling a little a bit subby, are we?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen breathed.

“Mmmm,” she hummed warmly, her voice low in her throat with sleep, running her hand lazily through his hair. “What would you like?”

“To serve you, mistress.”

“God, Jensen. You’re such a good sub, honey. Go on, then,” she said, and parted her legs beneath the covers.

Jensen slid down to the place between her legs. She lifted her bum so he could pull her underwear down, and he began kissing her gently, first on her inner thighs, on her lower abdomen, her pubic bone. Rowan sprawled back with her eyes closed, smiling—until Jensen began to kiss closer to her sweet spot, and her eyebrows furrowed just a tiny bit in pleasure.

Jensen flicked at Rowan’s pearl with his tongue. He heard the bedsheets shift, and glanced up. Misha was awake, gazing down at Jensen with sleepy, heavily lidded eyes, smiling. Flushing under Misha’s approval, Jensen went back to doing what he was doing. Misha reached up and ran his fingers through Rowan’s hair, then turned his eyes back to Jensen.

Rowan moaned, louder this time, and Joshua stirred. Rowan met his eyes and smiled as he took in Jensen and, blinking into wakefulness, smiled back at her. Then Jensen pressed harder into Rowan with his tongue, working it around in circles now, the way she liked, and she closed her eyes and arched her back, pushing herself into him.

“Jensen,” Rowan breathed. “Can Misha enter you?”

“God, yes,” Jensen practically growled. Rowan nodded to Misha, who positioned himself behind Jensen, on his knees. He realized he had forgotten the lube and looked to Joshua, who took it from the nightstand and handed it to him. Misha applied it to his own cock, slowly, with one hand and then said “Jensen,” softly, just to let him know, and Jensen thrust his hips back into Misha’s, hard. Misha smiled kindly at Jensen’s sheer neediness, and then entered him, groaning softly in pleasure, making Jensen moan, the humming vibration on her clit making Rowan moan. 

Rowan was getting close to climax. Looking at Misha thrusting into Jensen’s ass from behind nearly sent her over the edge. “Come here, baby,” she breathed to Joshua, scooting down—Jensen and Misha pausing to adjust with her—and then, guiding him with her hands, sliding Joshua’s boxers down and taking his cock into her mouth.

“Oh god,” Joshua groaned.

Misha came first, thrusting into Jensen, who took his mouth off of Rowan just briefly to say, “Harder. Harder, Mish. I need a good fucking,” his body rocking. This drove Misha over the edge and finished him quickly. The words worked on Rowan too, who pulled off Joshua, too close to orgasm to focus on him.  
“I have to get fucked hard in the ass,” Jensen said, and then went back to Rowan, who came, and came, in several waves that washed over her body, as she cried out with each one. When the waves receded, Jensen blew cool air gently onto Rowan’s opening and she shuddered. 

“Can you finish Joshua, baby?” she said lazily, languid after her orgasm.

“Yes,” Jensen said hungrily, and slid up the bed to where Joshua lay on his side, facing Rowan, running his hands through her hair. Joshua rolled onto his back and closed his eyes and Jensen took his cock into his mouth and worked it lovingly up and down. Misha collapsed onto the bed on Rowan’s other side, draping an arm across her stomach and watching Jensen and Joshua. Joshua groaned with pleasure, one hand coming down absentmindedly to Jensen’s hair, his fingers running through it. Then Joshua’s hips bucked and with a long groan he orgasmed into Jensen’s mouth, Jensen taking it all in. 

After Joshua had had a minute to catch his breath, Rowan said, “Jensen, which do you want first, sweetheart? Your orgasm, which you have so clearly earned, or your morning spanking?”

Jensen shuddered, his cock suddenly harder, at the delicious humiliation of it all. “My spanking, please, Ro.”

“All right. Ask the boys to stay and watch.”

Jensen swallowed, worried he would orgasm just from this, alone. “Joshua and Misha, will you please stay and watch me take my morning discipline?”

“Of course, honey,” Misha said. 

“Yes,” said Joshua.

“Stay where you are,” Rowan said. “Just lie right there on the bed.” Jensen’s head was still in between Joshua’s legs, his body stretched out long on Rowan’s oversized bed. Misha sat up on one elbow. Rowan removed the wooden brush from the nightstand. She rose and went to the edge of the bed, her three boys all there in the sheets, tangled, undressed, flushed and satiated. Jensen had slept naked so there were no briefs to pull down. She took in the sight of his perfect ass, just slightly bruised in a couple spots from the strapping he’d taken last night. He waited on his stomach, submissively, for her. 

“All right, darling. I’m going to give you your morning spanking now.” Rowan knew Jensen was either in subspace or right on the brink of it, which meant taking his spanking like this should be easy for him. Sure enough, his hips writhed at her words. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said. 

“Just like we’ve done in the past, I’m going to start out easy, then bring it up to the beginning of your pain threshold, so that it will truly hurt.” She wanted him to know exactly what to expect, because Jensen’s subspace was such a delicate thing—it put him into a place where he was somehow both stronger and softer. Able to take more pain, physically, but so very vulnerable emotionally. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,”

“It’s a routine spanking, Jensen. No need for ma’am.”

“Yes, Ro,” he said, squirming again.

“All right. Here we go.”

Rowan began with her hand, spanking Jensen firmly, alternating evenly between the two cheeks. Jensen let out a groan, and Rowan knew it was of pleasure and not pain. He moved his face, burying it in the covers. 

“Don’t do that, darling. Turn on your cheek so we can see you.”

“Yes Rowan,” he said, turning his head back to the side. 

“Tell the boys what’s happening,” she said, trying to bring him out of his head a little.

“I’m getting my morning spanking,” Jensen said. “I—mmmm!—I need one every morning.”

“Very good,” Joshua said.

Rowan spanked Jensen for awhile, watching his cheeks pinken, and then she said, “I’m switching to the brush now.”

“Yes Rowan,” Jensen said. Rowan raised the thick paddle of the wooden brush and brought it down across Jensen’s ass, hard. His body rocked with that one and he sucked in air. She spanked him again, and again, purposely making it hard. Jensen let out a groan—this one more pain than pleasure—and Rowan increased the speed and the strength of the strokes. The sudden intensity jolted Jensen a little bit, and he panted, and groaned, squirming—and then reached his hands up to Joshua, who took them in his own. Joshua held Jensen’s hands, squeezing, rubbing them with his thumbs.

Watching curiously, Rowan allowed it. She was surprised, but pleased, to see this intimacy between Jensen and Joshua, who had had such a rocky start. She raised her chin at Joshua, giving him permission.

“You’re doing so well, Jenny,” Joshua said soothingly. “You’re doing beautifully, sweetheart. I love watching Rowan spank you. You’re so beautiful, Jen.”

“You like to watch me—take my spanking?” Jensen said, panting a bit.

“Oh yes,” Joshua said. “Yes honey. Very much.”

This seemed to please Jensen, for reasons Rowan did not exactly understand. His whole body seemed to flush, and shiver with pleasure, and he ground his hips in little circles further into the bedsheets. Rowan and Joshua exchanged an approving glance, then Rowan’s eyes went to Misha and he smiled, satisfied and happy, at her. For a moment Rowan almost couldn’t believe how good it all was.

Jensen was far too close to coming. Rowan spanked him with the hairbrush, as hard as she could, a few more times, Jensen’s body rocking, his chest raising slightly, his hads squeezing Joshuas. “Ahh-ahh-ah!” Jensen cried out, writhing his hips. Rowan spanked him again. Then she dropped the brush to the floor and tapped Jensen’s side firmly. “Roll over,” she said, and he obeyed immediately, releasing Joshua’s hands. His cock was rock hard, standing straight at attention amid its little thatch of ginger pubic hair. He gazed up at her, half gone, his eyes glazed and adoring and needy, his pink lips parted, a thin, glimmering sheen of sweat above his upper lip. The freckles on his sweet face standing out against the pink flush of his cheeks. She raised her little night dress and she mounted him, sheathing him smoothly. Leaning forward, her hand on his chest, Rowan rode Jensen in slow waves that quickly grew faster. Jensen’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands going up to her waist to hold her, carress her, and with just a few quick thrusts, Jensen came.


	28. Chapter 28

Jensen was sitting down at the counter to the breakfast tacos Misha had prepared for them all when Joshua came downstairs. “Hey,” he said, running his hand lightly along Jensen’s back in a distracted greeting before continuing into the kitchen to Misha. “Gen and Jared are coming over for dinner tonight,” he said. Misha raised his eyebrows.

“Oh?” he said, quickly scanning the kitchen. Jensen watched. It wasn’t in terrible form, but it was clear their Sponsor had surprised Misha and Joshua with these plans last minute, and the two were not prepared for it. Joshua nodded—neither of them showed any overt annoyance or frustration, but a sort of bemused, fretful acceptance hung in the air between them. Jensen couldn’t help smiling a little.

“Did she say anything about what kind of menu?”

“No,” Joshua said. “Just ‘something nice’.”

“Okay,” Misha said, drawing in a deep breath. “You want to order the groceries or clean the kitchen?”

“Kitchen, I guess,” Joshua said, looking around. There was absolutely nothing about the kitchen that needed cleaning, as far as Jensen could tell, but this was not his area of concern. “She probably wants a cocktail hour, like last time—which means hors d'oeuvres.”

Misha puffed air out his cheeks. “Right. Better get on it. What do you think about steaks and that pepper sauce? If I do an easy starter, I could do potatoes and a salad—“

“Sounds great. Is the guest bedroom ready?”

“Sheets are clean, but it could be dusted. Jensen are you all right? Can I get you anything else?”

Jensen was already waving Misha away. “Go on. Sounds like you’ve got work to do.” He finished chewing and swallowed. It was time for him to get back to Rowan, anyway. 

Misha and Joshua both started in on their duties, the two of them linked by this shared responsibility, a camaraderie that Jensen would be lying if he said he didn’t envy, just a little, from time to time. Jensen took his plate to the sink and rinsed it off, thinking over what he’d just heard. Gen and Jared were coming for dinner—for the first time in a while. This provided him, he knew, with an opportunity. He knew what Joshua and Rowan were up to, always having him take his punishments now in front of the entire household. They were testing him out to see how he’d do with it, as a sort of run up to publics. It had thrown him off at first, but once Jensen had realized what was going on, it had given him a kind of fortitude—a test he could pass. Tonight, if he earned a punishment while Gen and Jared were here, he figured there was a decent change they’d decide to punish him for it in front of them. Jensen took a deep breath, considering. He was ready for this. He wasn’t certain, however, about going behind his Sponsor’s back to get it. It felt deceitful and wrong to purposely try to earn punishment. A betrayal to Rowan’s trust. Not to mention the fact that if he went too far, he could end up on the receiving end of some seriously harsh humiliation and punishment. He considered, for a moment, asking Rowan to just get on with it and discipline him in front of their friends. But that would give up the ruse—Rowan would know he knew, and he felt somehow that he wanted to protect that secret. 

When Rowan got out of the shower, Jensen was there in her room, on his knees in the corner, waiting. Rowan ran her fingers through his hair on her way out of the bathroom. “Grab my robe?” she said. Jensen rose to his feet, taking his cue, and went to her closet, taking out her soft pink dressing gown. Approaching her from behind, he lay the robe on the bed and took the towel she had wrapped around her chest, unraveling it gently and drying her arms and back, getting the little droplets of water that remained on her bottom and legs, bending down. He didn’t take too long, as the early spring day was chilly. Then he stood and held the robe open for her, helping her shrug into it. 

“Thank you,” Rowan said, turning and smiling at him. She kissed Jensen on the cheek. “Have you had your workout?”

“Not yet.”

“Why don’t you go do that and then check back in with me. I don’t suppose I could talk you into giving me one of your massages before dinner tonight?”

Jensen smiled with one side of his mouth, chuckling. “Of course I will.”

Rowan looked into his eyes, then, in that way of hers—as if she was reading his mind. Instantly Jensen regretted even thinking about trying to manipulate her into punishing him in front of Gen and Jared—of course that would be wrong. “Which are you feeling today, Jensen?” Rowan said. “Submissive or Dominant?”

Jensen breathed in deeply, thinking. He had basically been planning to take control of the entire evening, manipulate it to get what he wanted. “Dominant. But obedient. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Rowan said, nodding. “Thanks for being honest. Why don’t you do ten miles and then report back to me.”

“Yes Ro,” Jensen said, making a point of bowing his head. Rowan raised one eyebrow wryly.

“You’re not fooling me.”

“I wouldn’t try,” Jensen said, wincing slightly as he turned away from her—because of course, he had. Or he had considered it, at least.

 

Jensen did the ten miles outside, on the wooded trail, rather than inside on the indoor track that he used on the coldest winter days. The fresh air and thick greenery around him did him a world of good. After his cool down, he came inside to find Misha standing in his apron in the kitchen, made fragrant with the scents of garlic in oil and onions caramelizing in butter.

“Good run?” Misha said, glancing up, then returning his attention to some dough spread very thinly across almost the entirety of the island. 

“Good run,” Jensen said. “It smells amazing in here.”

“Glad to hear it. I was planning to bring you two lunch around one, but there’s some stuff in the fridge if you want a snack before then.”

“Thanks,” Jensen said, going to the sink for a glass of water. Joshua, he assumed, was off somewhere probably scrubbing a bathtub or toilet that was already perfectly clean. As he passed by Misha he reached his hand out to snag a mushroom out of the pan. Misha swatted at his hand. Smiling, Jensen went upstairs to shower, then dressed in his black briefs and tank top.

When he rejoined Rowan in her room she was sitting in the soft chair by the window, reading a book and drinking tea. Jensen didn’t speak, just went and knelt at her side, sitting back on his heels, hands resting on his thighs. Rowan reached down and rubbed the back of his head for a moment, her eyes still on her book. Jensen settled in to wait. Sometimes this sort of attending work could be even more difficult than taking a spanking or a paddling. The truth of the matter was, it could get boring. Jensen breathed in audibly, surprised to find himself thinking this thought. He was honored to serve Rowan in whatever way he could. He was lucky to be by her side. Anyway, she didn’t usually leave him like this for long.

Jensen, he scolded himself internally. Get your shit together.

And in the end, he was right. Rowan didn’t leave him there long. “Jensen, listen to this—“ she said after about 20 minutes—no way it was longer than 30. “—oh, why don’t you sit down, sweetheart. Do you have a book you’re reading or something? Listen.” And then she read him a paragraph from the book she was reading that was particularly beautiful. Sometimes they took hikes together, but Rowan didn’t take them out to do as many exciting activities—paddle-boarding and hiking and sailing—as she had in the past. This was, of course, one of the consequences for what they had done. She didn’t trust them out and about the way she once had. So he took out a book he’d been reading, a classic by one of the women who was considered to be a mother of great literature, and read.

After awhile Rowan set down the book and typed something into her phone. “I’m going to go out with Gen for a bit and then we’ll all meet here for dinner. You need to take a strapping before I go,” she said, stretching and standing.

“Of course,” Jensen said, managing to hide the surprise from his tone. Had he displeased her? She usually told him what he’d done.

“Go get the strap,” she said, and Jensen realized he should already have been getting the strap, and hurried to obey her. He scrambled off the bed and went to the cabinet in her closet where the straps hung, taking the thick one off its hook and bringing it back to her.

“Just a little maintenance for you, love,” she said, as he handed it to her. “Turn around and bend over the bed.”

"Yes ma’am,” Jensen said, obeying. She pulled his underwear down, her hand lingering across his ass. “Your skin has recovered from this morning.” 

Jensen wondered why she wasn’t going to get Misha and Joshua—he hadn’t been punished without an audience for long enough now that he expected it. But instead Rowan said, “I’m going to strap you thirty times up here, just the two of us, and then you’re going to go to Joshua and to Mish, on your knees, and ask them each to give you ten more. An exercise in obedience. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. “Thank you.” He already felt like crying. He wasn’t sure why. It was just a strapping, after all. Not a full beating, not the whip. He just hadn’t been expecting it. Which was probably why Rowan was giving it to him, he realized. He’d gotten complacent. Had he been complacent?

“Jensen,” Rowan said. “It’s just a maintenance strapping. Do you understand?”

“Yes Rowan. I need it. Please give it to me,” Jensen said automatically.

"Very good. Here we go." Rowan touched her hand lightly to his bottom, and then the next thing Jensen felt was the thick, heavy SMACK of the strap across his ass, spanning both cheeks. He sucked in air and then quickly forced himself down into a more submissive space, relaxing his muscles and slowing down his breath.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. Rowan strapped him hard, Jensen rocking with each one. After just a few more, he began to tremble and felt his eyes welling up with tears. For some reason, he tried to blink them back, despite the fact that that wasn't what Rowan wanted. But it didn't matter, they came too fast and too hard anyway, and he finally let himself cry.

After thirty--or so he assumed, he wasn't counting--Rowan stopped, and touched his bottom again, lightly, where it was red and hurting. "Stand up," she said. "Look at me."

He forced himself to face her, to make eye contact. She placed her hands on his faces and wiped his tears with her thumbs.

“All right,” Rowan said. “Go tell they boys that it pleases me to see your bottom striped, and ask them each for ten more.”

Jensen rolled his shoulders and resolved himself to following Rowan’s orders. He took the strap from her and, ass burning, went down to the kitchen. Joshua and Misha were there. They immediately sensed he had some purpose and went quiet, and waited.

“Joshua,” Jensen said, and then went to him and dropped to one knee. “I’ve been paddled because it pleases my mistress to keep my bottom striped. Please add to her pleasure and give me ten more.”

He managed to keep his voice level, for how much confusion he was in. The day had been like any other, Jensen hadn’t made any major mistakes, not even any small ones that he was aware of. As he prepared himself, bending over the bed, he had expected her to go get Misha and Joshua. What he hadn’t expected was for her to give him orders such as these. He couldn’t explain why, exactly, he felt so humiliated—so demolished by the orders. It seemed that every time he thought he’d made progress with Rowan, she found a way push him past yet another boundary he hadn’t been aware of having.

Joshua nodded. “Take position,” he said, matter-of-factly to Jensen’s great relief, and took the belt Jensen offered in his hands. Jensen felt more humiliated than he had in quite some time.“I’m sure you don’t need to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. Use ma’am and sir.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, grateful for the order, thought he couldn’t say exactly why. He drew his underwear down, exposing his red bottom. Joshua didn’t hesitate. He touched the belt lightly to Jensen’s flushed and burning skin, and then strapped him. Jensen began to cry on the first stroke. 

“Take it, Jensen,” Joshua commanded--it was his job both to carry out Rowan’s orders and to get Jensen through it--and Jensen managed to say “Yes, sir,” before Joshua strapped him nine times more. Jensen cried. He tried not to but he couldn’t help it. Joshua didn’t mention it and after the tenth stroke, he touched Jensen’s back gently but briefly. Then he quickly snapped Jensen’s underwear back up to his waist and smacked his bum. “Up,” he said.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Jensen rose and did what, he suspected, Joshua knew he had to do. Joshua handed him back the belt. He turned to Misha and went back to one knee. The movement was painful. He was quite raw. “Misha. I’ve been paddled because it pleases our mistress to see my bottom striped. Please add to her pleasure and give me ten more.”

Misha adopted the same matter-of-fact tone that Joshua had. “Take the position, Jensen.”

“Yes sir,” Jensen said, his voice thick. He bent back into position and pulled his underwear down. Like Joshua, Misha touched the belt to Jensen’s bottom before beginning to strap him. On the second stroke Jensen gasped. On the third he cried out in pain. He was close to sobbing. He didn’t think he could make it--SMACK, the fourth, and Jensen cried out again--and then Rowan’s voice, and her fingers in his hair. 

“You need this, don’t you Jensen?” her voice was firm. Not gentle, not harsh. Just calm, and firm. “Yes ma--ma’am,” Jensen said, before Misha strapped him again and he cried.

“Show me how strong you are. Jensen, you’ve been beaten worse than this. Why are you having this reaction?”

“Because I’m so ashamed,” Jensen gasped out. He braced for another stroke but it didn’t come. 

“What are you ashamed of?” Rowan said in the same even tone. 

Only the pain allowed Jensen to speak unguardedly. “Too need this. To need to be punished this way. I’m so ashamed of myself and--”

“Your position?”

Jensen was not so out of his mind with pain that he didn’t recognize the dangerous ground he was on. “No ma’am,” he said fiercely. “I’m proud to serve you. I’m honored to be your pleasure slave. I’d be honored to be anything at your side. I’m ashamed that I’ve conducted myself in a way that required you to change my position. I’m ashamed that I--that I need this. I’m ashamed to need it.”

Rowan sighed. He braced for a hard beating but he felt her fingers go to his underwear and pull them up. “Up, Jensen,” she said. 

“I’m sorry--”

Rowan held up a hand. “You haven’t done anything that needs apologizing for.” She sat at the counter. “You may remain on your feet, if it’s more comfortable.”

“I’ll sit, if it’s all right,” Jensen said, his voice still shaky. Rowan nodded. She was silent a moment before taking a deep breath.

“Jensen, just now, you were taking a strapping.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You and I both signed a contract that designated strapping as an acceptable discipline for you.”

“Ma’am,” Jensen gasped. “I would never intend to suggest that I don’t--”

“Since you became a member of my household, how many strappings have you taken, Jensen? You may answer candidly.”

Her voice was so calm. Jensen didn’t feel that he was on the brink of a further punishment.

“I have needed to be strapped many times, ma’am.”

“How many? Can you give me a number?”

“N--no ma’am.”

“So it’s safe to say that since joining my household, you have been strapped too many times to count.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said carefully.

“And does the same apply for spankings?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And paddlings? And other punishments and discipline sessions?”

“Yes ma’am. I--I require your discipline often. Very often. And I’m so grateful for it.”

Rowan ignored his obvious attempt to try to figure out what she was looking to hear. “And every time you’ve been punished before--before you were serving me as pleasure slave--did you feel this deep shame to require it?”

Jensen took a deep breath. He saw what she was getting at, he thought. “I regretted giving you the need to discipline me. But I didn’t feel this sort of shame. Embarrassment.”

“Even at times when I’ve purposely humiliated you, did you feel like this?”

“No. Because I knew I was receiving my proper discipline.”

“Well honey. This strapping is no different from any of those.”

It was, though. Jensen nodded and said, “Yes ma’am,” but in his mind, he couldn’t help thinking it was different. Rowan narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

“What is it, baby?”

“I--nothing. I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“Jensen,” Rowan said, and now there was warning in her voice. “I can see you’re conflicted about something. You are ordered to voice it and to submit to appropriate punishment if necessary.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jensen said. He tried to fight it back but his eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry. I was thinking that this time was different from all the other times.”

“How is it different?”

“Because with every other punishment. . . “ Jensen was trembling. “You’ve taken great pains to make sure I understand exactly why I’m being punished.”

Rowan drew in deeply and closed her eyes. “Go on.”

“And this time--this time, ma’am, I’m so sorry, the fault is mine--”

“Jensen.” The warning again.

“This time I failed to comprehend the exact reasoning. And then you brought up my dominance? And I figured--”

“You figured you were being punished because you earned it just by existing. You felt you were being strapped for just being who you are. Oh honey,” Rowan’s eyes were heavy. “Oh honey. I’m so sorry.”

“You owe me no apologies or explanations. I’m happy to submit for your pleasure.”

“I know you are honey. I know. Oh baby. You’ve done so well.” Rowan stood and went around the table and Jensen leaned into her arms. 

“Your strapping tonight wasn’t a punishment. It was a discipline. To help keep you on the right path. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Jensen nodded. 

"You don't deserve to be punished just for being you. I will never punish you for being a dominant. I might punish you for acting out on those urges in certain ways, but not for simply being. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, Ro."

"Due to your recent behavior, and Joshua and Misha’s, I’ve had to discipline you with more frequency and severity than in the past. And I feel that, at this point in our recovery, more frequent punishments are appropriate. For all of you. Misha and Joshua are undergoing discipline by being denied my immediate presence and attention. Does that feel like discipline to you boys? Is it difficult to bear?”

“Yes ma’am,” Misha said quietly.

“Yes Rowan,” Joshua said.

Rowan nodded. “You are allowed to be at my side at all times, Jensen. So a different recurring discipline was needed for you. For what you’ve done in the past, and for maintaining your good attitude throughout these weeks and months. Do you understand?”

Jensen nodded. “You’re not punishing me just because. And not because you’re angry at me.”

“That’s right,” Rowan said. 

“You’re disciplining me to keep me on my best behavior. And to allow you to accept me back into your home. And so I--so we all--can show you how much we’ll take for you.”

Rowan’s eyes were a little teary when she nodded. “Yes, baby. That’s right.”

Jensen drew in a deep breath. “Thank you, my mistress. I’ve still got five strokes.”

Rowan’s gaze on him was warm. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Jensen stood and put himself in position.


End file.
